


The Maiden and The Archer

by puffabilly



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Chivalry, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Forced Marriage, Modern Infusion, Romance, Threats of Violence, Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puffabilly/pseuds/puffabilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even a lowly servant like Darcy has heard the tales of the Avenging Knights.  After all, Lady Jane is betrothed to one.  And when the knights arrive at Lord Erik's castle, Darcy finds herself in the service of Sir Clint.  The archer is more charming than he first appears and as events unfold, Darcy begins to regret that there can be no future between a servant girl and a nobleman...</p><p>AU: Medieval Fantasy/Romance with modern infusions.  It's unashamed crack played both straight with the tropes along with a hefty dose of tongue-in-cheek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Tumblr people who read the rough version; I have edited and changed the text but the plot is the same if you really wish to skip a few chapters.

_In another place and time, there were nine kingdoms. In each were kings and queens, princes, knights and more.  In parts of Midgard, lords and ladies ruled over their lands and vassals.  Some were kind and just.  Some were cruel and vile._

_King Odin of Asgard was known amongst the realms as the most ardent seeker of peace.   But his son, Loki, had raised his own army and his efforts to conquer the world had only been halted by the bravery of a handful of heroes: The Avenging Knights.  Since then, the peace had grown weak and fragile._

_And amongst all this, there was a servant.  The minstrels would never sing songs about this unimportant girl.   Their songs were about The Avenging Knights who still rode the land.  The tales folks wanted to hear were of sweeping battles and glorious victories._

_But sometimes it is the smaller stories that are worth telling._

* * *

Darcy was elbow deep in water, scrubbing a pile of pans from the afternoon meal, when one of the pages barrelled into the kitchen.  The young boy skidded to a halt beside her and gasped for air.  “Darcy, you must come.  Her ladyship is on the tower again.”

If her hands weren’t already occupied, Darcy would have felt the urge to throttle someone.  Maybe Peter the Page.  Or she could try throttling herself.  While Lady Jane was a kind mistress to all who served within the castle walls, she also had an obsession with the stars that littered the night sky.   Despite tuts from various ladies-in-waiting over the years, Jane had decided the best view was on the east tower where the stone structure was in desperate need of repair.  As the stairs in that tower were also well rotted and threatened to collapse at any moment, few of the servants were brave enough to retrieve the lady when it was time for important matters like meals and bathing and such. 

Peter leant over Darcy’s bucket, gripping the wooden rim with his little fingers.  “Please.  The steward says it is most important she is not late for dinner again.”  The boy was only in his ninth year and he stared up at her with beseeching eyes. 

Darcy restrained her sigh.  She did have a soft spot for the younger servants.  “All right, but you need to keep scrubbing at the dishes for me while I’m gone.  Otherwise Cook will be in a rage before the evening is over,” Darcy said as she withdrew her hands from the bucket and quickly shook off the water.  As soon as Peter had started on the first plate, Darcy hurried from the kitchen and made her way through the halls.      

Passing through the looming, darkening courtyard as she approached the east tower, Darcy regretted leaving her woollen wrap by her bedside.  Summer was well past and the chill of the night was a tingle upon her skin.  She had at least paused to retrieve a candle burning upon a mantelpiece and it was a relief to cup her hand around the flame for warmth.  But the flame was also a necessity; it was unlikely Lady Jane had thought far enough ahead to leave lights to guide her path out of the tower.  Though should Darcy’s candle burn out they would likely repeat their bruises and grazes from the last time they stumbled through the darkness.

The musty air hit Darcy as she pushed open the wooden door in to the stairwell.   With a wrinkle of her nose and shallow breaths, she edged around until her toes hit the bottom step.  From there it was an almost practised climb up the spiral.  Jump the fifth step, stay to the right on the ninth and so on. 

After the third landing, Darcy could see glimpses of the night sky through the hole in the ceiling where the stonework and frame had broken away in clumps.   Most of the roof still remained; perhaps only a fifth had dissolved into nothing.  Lady Jane was oblivious to the risk of more stone giving way beneath her feet.  As Darcy climbed the finals steps, she moved cautiously and tested the strength of the floor with a nudge of her toes.

“Isn’t it stunning?” Jane exclaimed.  The lady leant against the parapet, her long dark hair blending into the dark sky behind her.  Her enthralled expression remained focused on the stars while her hand scribbled at a pile of parchment.  Jane’s drawing were nothing new to Darcy, even if she didn’t understand them fully.  The lady had tried to explain on many occasions. She would corner Darcy in the corridor and talk about the stars moving, what it meant about the world and how all the pictures proved it.  And it would all sound exciting but Darcy could only nod and try to excuse herself so she could get to the kitchen before the pies started burning.

“Indeed m’lady,” Darcy replied.  “But they will be here again tomorrow night.  However the rats will come eat your dinner if you don’t get dining soon.”

That did draw a laugh from Jane.  “We both know that it’s Peter who keeps sneaking the bread rolls from the table, not the rats.”

Having grown up in the castle and being only a few years younger than the lord’s only daughter, Darcy and Jane had a familiarity that went beyond the usual reserve.  So as they were alone, Darcy did not refrain from rolling her eyes and reaching to tug on Jane’s silk sleeve.  “When you come work in the kitchen, then you can comment on our rat situation.  Until then, your job is to eat the fruits of our labour.   So it’s time to move m’lady.”

“But I’m so close to understanding...” Jane protested while her writing became more frantic.  Darcy felt this would require more drastic intervention.  So she reached across and snatched the quill from her lady’s hand.  Jane spun on her heel, mouth agape in shock.  Darcy simply took a step back and dangled the quill over the edge of the parapet, one eyebrow raised warningly.

“You wouldn’t...” Jane said slowly.  “Darcy, I must write down my thought before I forget them.”

“If I give it back to you,” Darcy replied firmly.  “You have until I count to sixty and then you must to come to dinner.  Is it a promise m’lady?”

The conflict played out across Jane’s face before she nodded.  “It is a promise.  But count slowly,” she countered.  Darcy smiled and offered the quill back to her lady.

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy had returned to the kitchen only to be ordered to wash and change, as quick as could be, as the lord had requested she serve the evening meal.  The smell of warm bread teased at Darcy’s senses while she carefully deposited a dish of freshly baked rolls before Lord Erik.  He inclined his head in recognition before Darcy moved down the table to lay the next plate beside Lady Jane.  This evening she was the lone servant, as father and daughter were eating alone in the lord’s private chambers rather than the dining hall.  A slightly unusual occurrence but not unheard of.     

It was not long into the meal when Darcy learned the reason for the privacy.  She was pouring wine into Lord Erik’s goblet while he speared some of the roast pheasant and looked towards his daughter.  “I have some good news Jane,” he said, forced cheer apparent beneath his northern accent.  “Word comes that Prince Thor is travelling through our lands and wishes to visit for a few days.  He and his knights will be here the day after tomorrow.”

Jane’s fork clattered to her plate.  It even stunned Darcy enough that she was forced to jerk the wine bottle to stop the goblet from overflowing.  She managed a surreptitious glance towards the other woman.  As feared, the lady’s face was tight and pale.  Prince Thor was not an agreeable subject.

“How long exactly will a few days be?” Jane asked from between clenched teeth.  “Long enough to marry me off in?”

“My daughter,” the lord replied through a sigh.  “Must we go through this again?  You are betrothed to a good man.”

“A good man?” Jane exclaimed.  “Must we go through his adventures in the summer of my fifteenth year?”

Darcy snorted but quickly adopted an apologetic look after the disapproving glare Lord Erik threw in her direction.  Though in truth, it had been a tumultuous period that Jane referred to.  Prince Thor had spent the months in their castle to become acquainted with his betrothed.   A few years older than Jane and thus several years older than Darcy, both women had initially been impressed with the dashing good looks of the prince.  Their admiration had soon turned to irritation at the arrogance of the young man.  Thor and his soldiers in attendance, known as “The Warriors Three”, had ridden wild over the countryside.  They fell into scuffles and rumours came from the neighbouring village of much carousing.  

When Thor did deign to spend time around the castle, there would inevitably be conflict.  One of Jane’s projects that summer had been to improve Darcy’s proficiency at reading so the servant girl had been present for many of those confrontations. 

_“’A... lady... must... never... dem... dem-o..,” Darcy hesitated over the word.  She looked up from the grass where she sat cross legged, seeking guidance from her ladyship._

_Jane smiled down from her chair, a parasol keeping the sun from her eyes.   “Keep sounding it out.  You can do it,” she encouraged._

_Darcy stared at the small bound book in her lap again, puzzling out each letter in her head.  “Dem..on..st... demonstrate?”  She was rewarded with a nod from Jane._

_Resuming her reading, Darcy was interrupted by a rusting noise deeper within the forest.  They had spent the afternoon in a small clearing at Lady Jane’s insistence with the hope that the dense thickets of trees would deter Thor and his compatriots.   However the noises did not prove to be a deer or rabbit as Darcy hoped.  Instead the prince burst into their refuge, clearing the brush with his hammer._

_“Lady Jane!  I am grateful to have found you,” Thor said.  “Your father was in fear when you did not return at noon.”_

_“I made it quite clear that I would be away from the castle for the day.  My absence from lunch was expected,” Jane replied in a dismissive tone._

_“My lady, these woods provide inadequate protection for you to linger with naught but a maid.  I insist you return with me now.”  Thor sounded like he would brook no argument._

_“I have lived by the forest my entire life,” Jane said, equally as firm.  “I am quite able to handle myself.”_

_“Come now Jane...”_

_“No.”_

_Thor huffed as he stepped forward.  “I will carry you over my shoulder if I mus....”_

_Before Darcy knew she had moved, she had lobbed the small leather book straight at Thor’s head.  It hit him right in the middle of the eyes with a clunk before dropping to the ground._

_Now Darcy would admit that it had been more luck than not she’d hit her target.  But she could not have predicted that the prince would have stepped on a wet patch of grass right at the exact same moment.  Nor that the surprise of being thumped with a pile of parchment along with the slippery ground would send Thor flying onto his back._

_Jane clamped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise.  Darcy stumbled upright and crossed the grass to assess the prince.  In the few seconds it took, Thor was already sitting and shaking his head.  Darcy skidded to a halt and curtsied.  “My apologies your highness,” she said automatically.  Though after a pause she added “But the lady did say no.”  She immediately began predicting the amount of flogging she would receive for assaulting a prince.  This was going to hurt.  But she still jutted her chin up defiantly._

_“You have good aim little one,” Thor said slowly as he got to his feet.  “Just beware the targets you choose in future.  Not all will be as kind as me.”  He retrieved the book and handed it to Darcy before he bowed to Jane.  The prince left them in the clearing without a backwards glance._

_With a brush of her skirt, Jane nodded to her servant.  “Would you continue please?”_

_Darcy opened the book to the right page and located the sentence.  “A lady must never demonstrate... her... temper...”_

“It has been nearly ten years since that summer Jane.”  Lord Erik’s exasperation brought Darcy back to the present with a jerk.  She straightened herself and carried the wine to Lady Jane’s empty cup.  There was a good chance Jane would be of need of the drink shortly.  “If you would have deigned to see the Prince in that time, you would understand how he has changed.  Matured.   The... issues... with his brother and the invasion of the Chitari.   Prince Thor is a better man now.  The knights who he rides with now are said to be equally as wondrous.”

Everyone had heard the tales.  The battle from just a few months before, when Prince Loki had lead an army to the edge of the world and threatened to destroy them all as he spread west.  The minstrels had sung of hideous beasts and deformed soldiers riding beneath the mad prince’s command.  But the heroes of the story were the Avenging Knights; a group of warriors who had driven back the invading forces.  Darcy had seen girls swoon around the fireplace at descriptions of those knights, though Darcy had heard at least a dozen different variations of the exact details.  But a fact almost all agreed upon was they were considered heroes throughout much of the land.

 “I do not dispute Prince Thor’s achievements in battle,” Jane said while reaching for her wine.  “I am glad his hunting practise had some eventual purpose.  But that does not mean I wish to be married off to him like some prized cattle.”

“Daughter, this has been intended since you were infants.  Our king is much in favour of the union proceeding.  It will strengthen the ties between Asgard and Midgard, something much needed after Loki’s war.  King Odin and I have given you both much time to adjust to the idea...”

“And what of the idea that this should be my right?  To choose whom I marry?”  Jane slammed her goblet on the table as she stood.

“Everyone knows you and the prince are intended,” Erik said firmly.  “If you were not to wed... no, Jane.   There is no choice in this matter.”

“There is always a choice father,” Jane replied coldly before lifting her skirts and running from the room.

After hesitating for a moment, Darcy began to clear Jane’s plates while Lord Erik sat back in his seat, rubbing his eyes.  “Take her food to her room in an hour or so,” Erik ordered wearily.  “She needs to keep her strength up.”

“Yes my lord,” Darcy replied with a curtsey, even though she already intended to bring the remainder of the meal to Jane.  She knew how to cajole the lady into eating whether Jane was distracted, stargazing or as in this circumstance, extremely unhappy.

“And Darcy...” Lord Erik began, fixing his attention on her.  “You must avoid giving my daughter false comfort in this.  You have been like family to her, the sister I was not able to provide.  I might not approve but it is true.  So do not fill her head with thoughts other than what must happen.  Jane will see her betrothed in two days hence and will be married to him when King Odin sees fit.”

Darcy paused with her arms full of plates.  “Even if it’ll make her so unhappy, my lord?” she asked in a subdued voice.  Lord Erik did not look pleased at the question from his servant but he simply nodded. 

“Happiness is not some fanciful dream.   It is something we must find where we can with what the world gives.  And the world takes much more than it gives,” the man said while pushing away from the table.  “This is something I learnt when my wife died.  And something you, Darcy, learnt many years ago.  Try and help my daughter understand to be happy with her lot in life.”

As she cleared the table, Darcy mused on the lord’s words.   It was true she had learnt at a young age that she needed to be ready to fight to just survive, let alone even hope for more.  But Darcy refused to believe you had to settle for what the world told you to be.    At least, that was what she repeated to herself while carrying Jane’s dinner to her bedchambers.  Because if Jane, the smartest person Darcy had ever known, was to be trapped in her cage of noble birth; what hope did a servant like her have?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the crazy people who read the rough version and then proceeded to enable me to keep going. Updates will come ASAP - I never leave a WIP unfinished.


	2. Chapter 2

The appointed hour of Prince Thor’s arrival was fast approaching and the grinding ache in her body reminded Darcy why grand musing about life and the world was the realm of the nobles.  She had been scrubbing, cleaning, mending, brushing and dusting non-stop for the past two days.  There had been only a few snatched moment to comfort Jane who had taken to hiding upon the tower and comforting herself with her diagrams of the stars. 

Darcy was hauling a wooden box of wines from the cellar when one of the pages called down the hallway.  “Oi,” his young voice echoed.  “Lady Lorelei wants you in the gardens.”

“I’m a little busy,” Darcy yelled back as she adjusted her grip on the crate.

The young boy’s grin was impish as he skidded to a halt near her.  He appeared beside himself with excitement, as were all the children at the prospect of heroic knights arriving at their door.  “Don’t think it matters.  D’you know where Beth is?” 

“Sweeping the knight quarters last I saw,” Darcy advised.  The page ran off and Darcy braced herself to haul the wine to the kitchen as fast as possible.  With Lady Jane brooding on the tower, much of the planning had fallen to the few other resident nobles and it had made Lady Lorelei, the current emissary from King Odin’s court, more waspish than ever. 

By the time Darcy reached the garden, it appeared that Peter had located Beth.  She and several of the other servants of a similar age were gathered in a huddle, whispering amongst themselves.  Darcy shielded her eyes with her palm against the bright sunlight of the morning sky as she approached the group.  

“Darcy, do you know why we’re here?” Beth asked.  Her pretty face was scrunched in confusion as she tugged on her blonde braid.  Like all of them, she was coated with the dirt of hours of cleaning and preparation.  “I’m supposed to go aid Cook and she’ll be so cross if we don’t get the pig roasting soon.”

Before Darcy even had chance to comment, a cutting voice pierced the gardens.  “Less idle chatter.  Line up in a row with haste.”  Feeling her teeth clench, Darcy stood beside Beth as the other girls fell into place at Lady Lorelei’s command.   The woman proceeded to walk up and down the line, peering closely at each girl’s face.  Some shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. 

“No, not you.  Too thin by far,” Lorelei dismissed one girl with a wave.  The servant ran back to the castle walls in apparent relief.  Lorelei was an imposing presence; with long blonde hair and olive skin, she almost shone with her physical beauty.  Around the nobles, she was more than capable of unleashing her impressive charm.  She was, after all, here to maintain good relations.  But after several weeks of her residence, the servants knew what the lady was like when no other noble was present.  But that was how the aristocracy often behaved and servants learnt to deal with it.  Most of the time, at least. 

Tired and impatient, Darcy was presently not in the mood to be marched around and made to stand like livestock waiting for a buyer.  “Excuse me my lady, but is this going to take much longer?  Some of us still have much work to do before the prince arrives.”  She didn’t bother hiding the flippancy in her tone and Lorelei was standing before her in an instant.  Asgardians were fast.  Not to mention dangerously strong.

“One day your arrogant tongue will pull you into much trouble,” the lady warned in a dangerous voice as she gripped Darcy by the jaw, turning her face towards the light and jerking it back and forth, as if examining for flaws.   “Or perhaps today is that day...” Lorelei released her and Darcy rocked back on her heels, forcing her fist to unclench before could attempt to belt the woman in the throat, noble or not.

Lady Lorelei rapidly rejected the other girls with disparaging comments until only four remained.  Beth was still to Darcy’s side and the girl chewed nervously upon her nails until Lorelei slapped her hand away from her mouth.  “Halt that,” the noble admonished sharply.  “You four will attend to the knights upon their arrival.  Either a knight will select you or you will be assigned to one.  You will serve their _every_ whim.  Now, to the bathing room and I can only hope miracles will occur to transform you all into passable excuses for women.” 

‘Passable excuses for women’ involved more scrubbing and plucking and brushing than Darcy ever imagined possible.  She had aided Jane in her bathing routines in the past but never had the ministrations applied to herself.  The whole process required a swarm of woman to bustle around the four girls, each applying lotions or wielding combs. 

“Aren’t you a lucky one,” an elderly woman clucked as she removed a knot from Beth’s hair.  Darcy recognised her from the village.  One of the midwives from memory.  “To be serving one of the Avenging Knights.  What an honour.”

“This might hurt a little, love,” a plump woman said kindly as she poured a waxy substance over Darcy’s leg.

“Why would it hur.....OWW,” Darcy yelped as the wax was ripped away.  Was this really what nobles endured to make themselves presentable?  While her skin did feel nicely smooth beneath the raging pain, it did not seem worth it.  Darcy found herself taking shallow breaths as the woman instructed her to turn over for further treatment.

“Had that done once before my wedding,” the midwife commented sympathetically.  “Will say that the ripping hurt less than the wedding night.  Hope you’re probably prepared for what might happen with those knights.”

“Don’t scare the girls,” the plump waxer chastised.  “I’m sure the Avenging Knights aren’t that type.  I hear one is female after all.”

“I don’t understand...” Beth said from across the room.  The girl was naive at best.  Darcy knew exactly what the women meant.   And as the seamstress later made quick adjustments to the clothes Darcy was to wear, it was quite apparent what Lorelei intended the girls to offer to the knights.

“This is what _she_ ordered, isn’t it?” Darcy asked while gesturing towards her well exposed bosom.  The seamstress nodded and Darcy took another restrained breath, trying to get used to the tight grey bodice wrapped around her waist.    The white shirt beneath left her shoulders bare and the skirt clung to her hips before falling in light drapes down her legs.  It was much more revealing than Darcy was used to.   She hoped the nobility of the Avenging Knights was everything the bards sang about. 

“You ready to go?” Beth asked, leaning through the doorway.  Darcy almost recoiled upon seeing the girl.  Beth was barely recognisable.  She gleamed like a noble and Darcy was forced to admit that despite the connotations of the garb they’d been forced into, Beth was stunning.  Darcy wondered if she mirrored even part of that beauty.  They had after all passed through the same hands to braid their hair and rub perfume into their skin.   Perhaps miracles had indeed occurred in that washroom.

Judging by the reaction when the four girls were escorted to the courtyard, the changes in their appearance was indeed significant.  “What has been done to you?” Lady Jane whispered to Darcy as she passed.  Darcy tried to shrug in reply but had to stop upon realising what that gesture did to her chest.  So she stood as still as possible and contemplated ways to exact her revenge upon Lady Lorelei.  The only distraction came when one young man was shoved into line beside her.  He was a handsome lad who worked in the fields.  He tugged nervously at the neck of his new shirt.   Darcy surmised the story about a female Avenging Knight must have some truth to it then.

Trumpets sounded and the last rush of motion rippled through the waiting crowd.  Jane took her place beside her father, centred in the yard ready to greet their guests.  The pages, bannermen and various people of title moved to their spots.  The grooms and Cook and all the others huddled where they could.  Much jostling was going on as everyone angled for the best position to see the knights enter beneath the arched gateway.   Darcy and the other elevated servants had a prime spot as they waited in a row right to the side of Lady Jane, ready to be of service after the knights were presented.  With her head held high, Darcy straightened her back and elbowed Beth lightly in the ribs.  Darcy had been quite firm with the other girls that no matter what Lady Lorelei implied, none were expected to end up on their backs that night.  But it couldn’t hurt to make that clear from the outset.

The castle guards drew back the inner doors; however the first figure to appear through the archway was a surprise.  A slender woman with ginger hair crossed the cobbled ground and bowed before Erik.  “My lord,” she said in a smooth voice.  “I am Pepper, current herald for Prince Thor and his knights.  We thank you for your hospitality.”

Lord Erik inclined his head in response.  “And we welcome you to our home.  Please, bring the knights inside.”

From her position, Darcy could view the playful smile that appeared upon the herald’s lips.  “As you wish.  Though I warn,” she added in a hushed whisper.  “Some entrances may be a little dramatic.”

Pepper turned to gesture as the doors swung open once more.  “May I present Sir Tony Stark.  The knight with the suit of armour so fearsome that he became known as the Iron Man.”  The trumpets built to a fanfare as Sir Stark entered the courtyard.  A collective gasp ran through everyone gathered.  The knight was ensconced in shining red armour with his face hidden behind the helmet.  It was like nothing any of them had seen before.  He walked across the ground with ease and dropped to one knee before Jane, taking her hand against his metal fingers.  As if by magic, his helmet slid back to reveal his bearded features. 

“It is truly a pleasure, Lady Jane,” Sir Tony said as he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.  Jane even managed a smile down at him and Darcy realised she wasn’t alone in feeling the charm radiating from the Iron Man. 

Sir Tony finished bowing to Lord Erik before he turned and waved towards the rest of the occupants.  Upon seeing the row of pretty girls standing offside to Lady Jane, the man pressed two fingers to his lips and blew an imaginary kiss towards them.  It amused Darcy until one of the girls sighed heavily and fluttered her eyelashes. 

“That should be sufficient,” Pepper muttered to Sir Tony as she placed a hand on his shoulder and subtly nudged him aside.   There was the briefest of glances between the two that Darcy only just caught.  But the herald’s hand lingered on the knight’s shoulder and Darcy wondered about the intimacy between the two.

Clearing her throat, Pepper addressed the crowd once more.  “Sir Steve Rogers,” she announced as a tall blonde man strode forward.  “A soldier before he became the noblest of knights, the Captain of the team.”  The mass intake of breath this time was a decidedly more feminine noise and she thought Beth was about to swoon.  The tabard hanging from the knight’s plated shoulder was in patterns of red, white and blue that Darcy didn’t recognise.  While his armour was heavy, coated in blue enamel with a wide shield strapped to one arm, he moved with the same effortlessness as the Iron Man had.  It was as if he was dressed in something as light as cloth. As the knight passed just a few arms length from Darcy, she was able to take in the well defined features of his face.   He was almost impossibly handsome but there was a sense of reservedness to him when he knelt before his hosts.

“My lord.  My lady,” Captain Rogers said formally, keeping his head lowered.  “It would be my honour to be of service during my time here.”

It looked like Jane was going to make a comment but the frown from her father halted her words.  Darcy suspected the request may have involved throwing Prince Thor from one of the towers. 

“Thor is getting impatient,” Sir Steve murmured to Pepper.  “You might want to introduce the next three with some haste.”  He remained polite, but Darcy heard the authority to his tone. 

“Of course Cap,” Pepper nodded as the knight joined Sir Tony to the side.  “To present more valued members of the Avenging Knights: Sir Bruce Banner, a renowned healer and man of knowledge, let alone a hero.  Sir Clint Barton, the world’s greatest marksman and known as Hawkeye to both friends and enemies.  And Sir Natasha Romanoff.  The Black Widow.”

The threesome entered shoulder to shoulder.  Everyone’s focus flew towards Sir Romanoff.  There were no women knights in this corner of Midgard.  All had heard the story of the red haired woman who rode with the men as equals, but seeing was truly believing.  The Black Widow strode with confidence.  Her leather armour was of a nature that made it quite clear to any doubters that this knight was indeed female.

Darcy’s interest moved on to the other two.  Sir Bruce had either shunned or discarded his armour.  He was dressed in simple linens and Darcy felt sympathy for the man.  He looked like he wished to be anywhere but there as he glanced around the castle.  His eyes seemed to settle on all the exits before he turned his attention forward once more.

The last of the threesome was similar to Sir Natasha in many ways, though a little older.  Also dressed in leather, he carried that same assurance along with an apparent indifference to the audience.  Not the showmanship of Sir Tony or blinding presence of Sir Steve.  But as Sir Clint passed Darcy, she could see the rugged handsomeness of his profile and against a black vest shifted the muscled lines of his bare arms.   Darcy tried not to chew her lip in appreciation and was relieved when he and the other two didn’t even glance in her direction.  

When those three knights had knelt and greeted the lord, Darcy saw from the corner of her eye that Jane had turned tense and rigid.  The moment had arrived and could not be avoided any further.

“My Lord.  My Lady.”  Pepper addressed Erik and Jane directly.  “Prince Thor of Asgard.”

There were no trumpets.  No big fanfare.  Prince Thor simply walked through the gate, his famed hammer in hand.  He had continued to grow since his summer in the castle and his sheer imposing presence caused much whispering, particularly from where the servants congregated. Thor ignored all the murmurs as he aimed straight towards his betrothed and her father.  Dropping to one knee and clasping his arm across his chest, Thor bowed his head.   

“You do not need to kneel before us, your highness,” Lord Erik chuckled nervously.

“I kneel where my brothers have kneeled,” Thor replied.  “And more so, I would greet you both with more respect than I showed during my last residence here.”  The Prince rose to his feet but his eyes were locked on Jane’s.  “It has been many years, my lady.”

“Indeed,” Jane’s reply was cool but not quite as frosty as Darcy had expected. 

“It is with great thanks that we accept the welcome into your home,” Thor said politely.  “I do promise that my knights and I will behave with the utmost decorum.  Your servants will have no need of throwing hard objects in any of ours direction.”

Darcy’s snort of laughter came out a little louder than she intended.  Loud enough for all the knights and Lord Erik to observe, as several sets of eyes turned in her direction. 

“Little Darcy,” Thor smiled in recognition.  “Though not quite so little anymore.”

“You’ve grown also, your highness,” Darcy replied along with a quick curtsey. 

“I should hope so.  I was very much a boy when I was here last,” Thor gave a polite nod of his head towards Darcy before turning his attention back to Jane.  It was far more than most servants would ever receive from a prince and even more eyes were now turned upon Darcy.  It was a relief when Lord Erik made a gesture and the crowd began to disperse.  The page boys ran to gather luggage, a little disappointed when the knights declined their offers to carry the weapons.   

“Perhaps best to get this over with,” Darcy murmured to the others.  But she had barely inched forward before Lady Lorelei presented herself to Prince Thor.

“Your Highness,” Lorelei simpered.  “I have arranged for some servants to attend to your knights.  They will be at your complete disposal for their entire stay.”  Darcy scowled at Lorelei’s back in response.  She assumed no one would be paying her enough attention to notice.  And it would be worth a flogging even if she was caught.  “Would your knights like to pick one of their fancy?” at which she gestured towards Darcy and the others. 

 “I know I’m new around here,” Sir Tony said.  “But do you normally present your workers like horses at a fair?  I feel like I should be checking their teeth first.”

“They’re slaves.  Technically,” added Sir Natasha.

The responses threw Lorelei off guard.  “If they’re not to your liking...”

Jane placed a hand on Lorelei’s shoulder, cutting her off.  “I believe what the good lady wished to state is that we have gathered some of our finest household members to show you to your rooms and offer any assistance a knight may require during their stay.”

“I’m still confused about the slaves part...” Captain Rogers interjected.  The frown creasing his forehead suggested he was somewhat unhappy with the term, one that Darcy didn’t recognise.

“It’s a little closer to indentured servitude...” Master Banner corrected.

“There isn’t much difference...” Sir Tony added.

With a shake of his head, the one known as Hawkeye broke from the crowd and crossed the cobblestones.  Darcy was surprised when he stopped in front of her.  “What exactly did you throw at Thor?” he asked, sounding only mildly curious.

“A book,” she replied quietly.  “It hit him in the head.”

Hawkeye gave the briefest of smiles before he nodded towards the grand hallway.  “Not that I’m insensitive to your repressed status as a human, but I need a tour of this place including all the high spots.  Are you up for it?”

The question was a shock to Darcy.  Not because of what he was asking her to do but the way he asked her.  He was forthright and unhesitant in his manner, but still it was a request.  Not an order.  Apart from Jane, she could barely remember the last time a noble had addressed her in such a manger.

“Yes,” came her instant reply.  “Where do you want to start?”

“Overlooking the lake,” Hawkeye gestured as they began walking.  “But if you want to change out of that corset first, we can stop at your room.  How do you even breathe in that thing?”

“Ahem,” Lorelei’s voice rang out, stopping Darcy mid-step with a wince.  Hawkeye halted beside her, an eyebrow already raised in question.  “We do require the girls be appropriately dressed to serve the feast tonight.  That includes the bodice.”

The eyebrow lowered as Hawkeye turned to face Lorelei and the others.  “I picked her.  Isn’t she my slave now for as long as we stay here?”

“I believe that was the offer, yes,” cut in the Iron Man before anyone else could respond.

“Then my slave will wear whatever she damn well wants.”  Hawkeye didn’t bother waiting for any further additions to the discussion.  He instead placed a hand on Darcy’s back and guided her away once more. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There is some threatened assault and harassment in this chapter. Very low levels threats in the narrative sense.

By the time Darcy and Sir Hawkeye reached the eastern corner, the best part of an hour had passed.  They had viewed the lake that curved around the back of the castle and the gardens nestled between the inner and outer walls.  They’d walked through all the buildings and passageways between them and climbed to every high point.  Only the east tower remained.

“Be careful where you step, sir,” Darcy said as she eased the tower door open.  “This part is in much need of repair.”

Hawkeye’s eyes were already flickering upwards, taking in the new surroundings.  “I can tell,”

 She guided him along the safe route up the stairs, the knight following close behind.  Though Darcy suspected he would have identified the weak points on his own.  Hawkeye was uncannily observant.

The wind had grown stronger and Darcy’s hair was swept back from her face as they emerged on the rooftop.  “Sit,” Hawkeye said, his hand cupping her elbow.  It was the closest thing to a demand he’d made of her.  “Last thing I need is you getting blown off this death trap.”  Darcy didn’t object.  She’d remained in the tight bodice, if only because getting back in would be a nightmare and it would cause too much fuss if she served at dinner without it.  And while it had not hindered her so much while traipsing around the castle, there was some relief as she took a seat on the stone floor, her back resting against the parapet wall.

Sir Hawkeye had appeared uninterested in idle chatter throughout their tour so Darcy did not bother him as he paced across the tower.  He was surefooted and stepped onto the edges of the walls without hesitation.  “Why does the Lady come up here?”  Hawkeye asked as he crouched beside the parapet that Darcy leant against, staring out over the neighbouring forest. 

He’d asked several questions about the castle, but this one surprised her.  Darcy angled her head back to stare at him.  “How do you know that she does, sir?” 

Hawkeye continued to survey the horizon and did not meet her eyes, though he did answer her query.  “Footprints in the dust.  Small feet.  One set with well made soles, the other not.  You know your way up that rotten staircase too well to be an infrequent visitor.  And you would be following the Lady Jane here, not the other way around.”

 Darcy considered his response.  She was hesitant to discuss much of Jane with any of Thor’s allies, lest it be used against the lady in the betrothal proceedings.  But this was no secret – the other servants would happily gossip about Jane’s habits for hours – and she felt his candid response deserved an honest reply.   “It’s the stars, sir,” Darcy finally stated, gesturing towards the blue sky.  “She believes the view is best from here.” 

“An astronomer?  And here I was thinking she simply enjoyed living dangerously, being betrothed to Thor and all,” Hawkeye said while poking a section of the wall.  The mortar began crumbling beneath his touch.  “You both should stay away until this whole section is repaired.”

Darcy barely managed to swallow down her laughter at the suggestion.  “Perhaps the Avenging Knights might have the power to persuade Lady Jane to use another tower, sir, but I would not care to wager on your success.”

“Does it bother you?  Being forced to come here, even though it’s so dangerous?”  The next question came with the continued absence of judgement but still it made Darcy bristle.  She rose from the floor, the motion more awkward than usual thanks to her binding dress.  With a sure step she joined Hawkeye on the parapet, the steep drop just a few inches from her toes filling her vision.  Her fingers itched to grip the parapet for some security but if this knight wanted dangerous, she’d give it to him.

Hawkeye shifted his gaze onto her but made no other move.  “The Lady Jane’s been kind and good to me,” Darcy said.  “I can read and count because of her.  I have somewhere safe to sleep.  It’s more than many have, so no, it doesn’t bother me.  I’ll still climb this stupid tower knowing one day a stair may snap or a stone will give and I’ll break a leg or worse.  But perhaps that’s hard for someone of your station to understand.”

 

“You’d be surprised,” he replied before rising from the crouch.    Darcy’s chin was lifted, waiting in defiance should she have angered him.  Instead Sir Clint offered her his hand as they stepped away from the tower’s edge.

 

* * *

 

 Night had fallen and the time for the evening feast had arrived.  In the great hall, the sconces blazed and the chandeliers burned with fresh candles, spilling light over the polished stone floor and the gleaming centrepieces dotted across the tables.  Darcy could not recall when the room had last been so full.  Any noble within riding distance had come for this chance to view the Avenging Knights in person.  She would have to apologise to the steward later for questioning the amount of chairs they’d dragged in, because every last seat was occupied.  As she poured the first round of wine along one table, she heard several comments on the knights being bigger or smaller or broader or prettier than what was expected.  And more than one spouse requested extra drink while their husband or wife cast longing gazes towards their knight of choice.

On the multiple trips back to the kitchen there was little time to talk of anything with so many mouths to feed.  One of the scullery maids, however, was trying her best while Darcy refilled the wine decanter. 

“What’re they like?” the girl pleaded while scrubbing more apples for the dessert dishes.  She was one of the youngest in the kitchen and had to stand on a box to reach her countertop.

Darcy frowned.  She was already distracted trying not the spill the expensive red liquid onto the floor. “As pretty as the finest statue the lord has in the castle,” she teased.  “They are like cut marble, just as the stories say.”

“Darcy!” Beth admonished as she loaded her serving bowl with the delicate beef and onion soup still bubbling over the fire.  Her smile softened her words.  “They’re more than just their bodies.  They are good people.” Beth was far more experienced in the kitchen and she handled the pouring with infinite grace.  “Sir Steve has been the kindest of men.”

The scullery maid’s big brown eyes widened even further.  “You are serving _the_ Captain?  He is the best! You are so lucky I could die.”

Cook passed by and wrapped the girl’s knuckles with her spoon.  “Not before those apples are peeled and cored, missy.  And you two...”  Darcy and Beth hauled their loads away before the wooden spoon clipped their heads.

The pair stepped onto the dais where the Avenging Knights sat with Lord Erik and Lady Jane at the high table, a wide range of meals already filling the room with heady smells.  Beth began at one end with the fresh soup, Darcy at the other with the drink.  Lady Lorelei’s seat was empty and the herald Pepper advised that the lady had excused herself, which improved Darcy’s spirits to no end.  Pepper took only a small serve of wine, Sir Tony a good deal more and Darcy took note to return with some boiled water at Sir Bruce’s request. 

Clint was picking apart a roasted quail, the juices spreading over his plate, as Darcy leant over his goblet.  “I don’t suppose you have any ale, do you?” he asked, causing Darcy to pause.  Normally only the poor had a taste for the hops drink.  “I know,” he added, as if reading her mind.  “They keep threatening to revoke my knighthood if I don’t learn to stomach the wine like normal fine folk.”

He passed it off as a joke but Darcy still searched his face, looking for something beneath the cavalier manner.  Sir Clint was a difficult man to read.  But he did seem not entirely comfortable amongst the pageantry of the evening.  He rolled his shoulders, as if trying to shrug off the silk shirt he wore.  “That’s only because the nobles don’t know where to find the good ale,” she said with her voice light and low as she lifted his cup from the table.  “Just you wait.”

When the last of the wine had been served, Darcy darted back to the kitchen.  After managing to burn her hand like an idiot as she put some water on to boil, she snuck into the cold pantry where the servants stored their foods.  There wasn’t much there but a large wooden keg rested upon one shelf.  The servants had pooled their efforts to acquire it from the local brewer; Darcy had spent several afternoons gathering kindling and berries from the forest for her share.  It had earned her one serve of ale which, although she only had a passing fondness for the drink, she had still been saving for a special occasion.

Amber liquid and the heady scent of barley filled Clint’s cup to the brim when Darcy deposited it before him.  She left him to take a sip while handing the steaming water to Sir Bruce, who took it with thanks before pouring some dried herbs into the mug. 

Sir Clint and Sir Natasha were in conversation as she passed, so Darcy could not stop to ask how he was finding the ale.  Instead she did her work, distributing glistening loins of veal, golden pastry stuffed with rabbit and plates of smooth, fragrant cheeses across the hall.  And wine.  Plenty and plenty of wine.   Her feet were starting to ache as Darcy returned to the high table.  There was some comfort in seeing the lady managing a smile as she talked with Prince Thor who sat by her side.

Clint was savouring his ale as Darcy cleared the remnants of the third course.  He glanced up her.  “Can I order you to sit and rest for a moment?” he asked. 

“You could.  But everyone would stare.  It would embarrass the lord and make many people angry.”  And Darcy stopped before she speculated about whether Lady Lorelei would finally be able to enact the flogging she always threatened.  The cold look settling on Hawkeye’s features was bad enough.

Perhaps that time she had been too forward.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  But to make the matter worse, Darcy glimpsed a situation developing towards the rear of the hall and the time for a proper apology slipped away.  “I’m sorry,” she repeated, plates balanced against her arms as she darted off the dais and towards the spot where Beth was serving. 

Someone had once told Darcy she had the perfect wench body.  It was a fact she’d known since her thirteenth year and she’d learnt early on to recognise the signs that a man was thinking of getting beneath her dress and to disappear before he could decide to take action.  But Beth had been more sheltered, coming to the castle at a later age and only because her parents died in a pestilence.  Not her fault in any way.  Just as it was not her fault that a couple of young nobles were holding her by the skirt, trapping her against their seat.

“Excuse me, m’lords,” Darcy said. She was all pleasant smiles and forced cheer to divert attention as she kicked the legs of their chairs.  The shock made them recoil and their grips loosen.  Darcy wedged herself between Beth and the men under the pretence of reaching for their plates.   

One of them hunched over his food in response, his priority shifting to preserving the half eaten pork belly still remaining.  “I’m not finished yet, wench.”

“Yes, you are my lord,” Darcy replied.  Any casual observer would see a servant shifting the pile of plates in her arms, but her true purpose was to block the other noble and his attempted grab at Beth.  “But I’ll let you keep the pig.  It’s appropriate company for you both.”

Another guest nearby called for some more bread and while the noble youth continued to seethe, Beth was able to resume her serving beyond his reach.  Darcy didn’t give the men a backwards glance as she gathered up more empty bowls.

In the kitchen though, she threw down the plates and discarded food with more force than needed.  It made the inquisitive scullery maid jump and drop the pot she was scrubbing.  “Sorry,” Darcy apologised as she slumped against a counter, blowing an errant lock of hair from her face.  Nobles like that, spoilt and callous, would have persisted if she’d shown even a hint of fear.  It did not mean her heart did not still thud from the encounter. 

“Almost done, lovie,” Cook said with an unusual hint of sympathy.  “Just the sweets left.”  She gestured towards the rows of small dishes perched upon the heavy silver serving trays and Darcy did her best not to sigh as she pushed herself upright once more. 

“Tell me if they like the apples,” the young maid’s voice followed her.

The stewed fruit was indeed popular at the high table.  Darcy’s tray was fast empty and she noticed the other girls moving through the room at a similar pace.  By the time she was clearing the trestles once more, the guests were either reclining and patting their bellies with gusto or beginning to shuffle across the floor to seek other company.  Wine was still being poured but with less room in their stomachs, the haste in refilling the jugs had slowed.

Beth fell in step with Darcy as they transported another set of used crockery from the great hall.  The noise of chatter faded as they stepped beneath the arched doorway into the cobbled hallway leading them to the kitchen.  “Claire spoke to me before,” Beth said, referring to another of the servants.  “She said Sir Bruce was the gentlest of men.  Nothing like they say in the songs.”

Darcy gave a snort of laughter, as they were far enough along that no noble would be present to hear.  “Minstrels have been known to get it wrong before, Beth.”  She threw a teasing grin at the other girl.  “Though not about the looks of the good Sir Captain, I will admit.”

Even beneath the dull candlelight, Darcy could see the blush begin to form on Beth’s cheeks.  “I had not noticed,” she lied.

Darcy’s mouth dropped open to protest but a sudden tingle on the back of her neck froze her tongue.  She stopped and turned sharply on her heel.  Sure enough, the two young nobles from earlier rounded the bend only a few short lengths behind them.

“Beth...” Darcy warned.  The other girl gasped and she must have seen what Darcy did.  The menace on the faces, the clenching fists and eyes unfocused from too much wine. 

The one who had been quieter before pointed a finger at Darcy.  “Chattel like you needs to learn respect.  Keep quiet while we teach you...” 

Whatever lesson he planned on imparting was cut off as two large hands gripped the men by the shoulders and spun them around.  The bards had sung about the strength of Sir Steve but yet Darcy was stunned as he hauled the nobles up by their collars and slammed them against the walls. 

Hawkeye was close behind.  He circled around the captain, his calm face a contrast to the restrained anger that tightened the other knight’s features. 

“Apologise to the women,” Sir Steve said, each word slow and clear.

Perhaps the drink had made them bold, because despite their feet dangling a good few spans from the ground, one of the nobles chose to grunt in disgust instead.  “Women?  They’re dirty slatterns...”

The thud of their backs hitting wall again was lost in the clatter of metal as Darcy dropped her tray.  The anger burned bright enough to blind her to sensible thought or appropriate behaviour.  She had barely taken a step forward, fists clenched and ready to defend Beth’s honour, when Clint filled her view.  He took her by the shoulders, halting her with gentle pressure.  “What’s the punishment here for striking a noble?” he asked.

Darcy was too angry to answer, though Beth did for her.  “He could demand twenty lashes as recompense, sir.”

“Now you see,” he continued, louder this time.  “As you’re my servant currently, I couldn’t let that happen.  So there’d end up being a duel or something.  And I’d win.  And possibly maim him in the process.”  He threw a wink at Darcy, the roguish gesture belying the purposely icy chill to his words.  “And that’s bad for our reputation.  Heroic knights and all.”

He was soothing her, guiding her with teasing, distracting words.  The way Darcy did with Jane when cajoling her from the tower.  That realisation was what made her loosen and relax beneath his fingers.  “Though,” he continued, removing his hands from her only to begin cracking his knuckles.  “Is there any punishment should one man with title beat another one senseless?”

Beth coughed before answering.  “None, sir.”

“Now we have established that,” Sir Steve said, his steadfast grip on the men maintained without a hint of strain.  “Apologise.”

The two nobles made quick, feeble apologies.  It was instead the graceless landing as the captain dropped them to the floor and the tremble to their gait as they ran that gave Darcy some gratification.

Beth’s eyes went wide as Sir Steve approached them, concern lining the knight’s noble face.  “I’m sorry those curs had the time to follow you.  Sir Clint saw them make their move but revellers got in our way and we couldn’t stop them before they reached the hall.”

“Think nothing of it, sir,” Beth replied in a rush.  She was obviously trying not to stare at the knight with adoration, which made Darcy’s lips twitch in amusement.

“May I escort you the rest of the way?” Steve asked while gesturing to the plates still clutched in Beth’s arm.

Darcy glanced at the scattered goods she’d dropped. “We’ll be right behind,” Clint interjected.  As Beth and Steve departed, he took one knee beside Darcy and helped her gather the silverware. 

It was quiet between them as the plates were set into a pile again.  Before Darcy could even straighten, Clint had lifted the load.  “Things like that happen often?” he asked, the words strained.

With a shake of her own head, Darcy stood.  “Not here.”

“You did good with them.  When they had your friend by the table.  But still.  I should have broken their fingers then.  Not waited to avoid embarrassing our hosts.”  He was frustrated and the last thing Darcy wished for was for him to turn it inwards.

It was forward and inappropriate.  But Darcy still pinched his shirt between her fingers, tugging the smooth fabric.  “It wouldn’t have been worth it.  And you might have gotten blood on your clothes.”  She rolled her eyes at him.  “And do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood out of silk?  Do you?”

It was Clint’s turn to chuckle and let the tension ease.  He didn’t resist as Darcy took half of the plates from his arms to share the burden.  And she did not object when he stayed close to her side the remainder of the way. 


	4. Chapter 4

A chorus of gasps and giggles greeted Clint and Darcy when they reached the kitchen.  Not that it was their arrival inspiring such a response.  All eyes and ears were fixed on Sir Steve who was discussing something with Cook.  It was not as if the nobles visited that often, let alone such an esteemed and famous guest like this.  As Darcy deposited her pile of plates upon a benchtop she could pick up the conversation bewitching the room.

“We have been eating far too many travelling rations of late,” Sir Steve was saying.  “The feast provided tonight has been beyond what any man could want.”

And was Cook... blushing?  Solid, no-nonsense Cook who claimed to have birthed her last child in the morning and been back in the kitchen by lunchtime.  “Well, that is awful kind of you, sir.”

“That’s the good captain for you,” Clint muttered while placing his share of the dishes beside Darcy.  “Charming the ladies wherever he goes.”

Darcy laughed under her breath.  “He’ll be getting the finest rashers of the bacon in the morning, I can promise you that.” She leant back against the counter, letting her head loll to the side as she looked towards Clint.  “But don’t worry.  I’ll steal some for you too.”

 Clint folded his arms lightly over his chest as he reclined next to her.  Even in his fine silk and leathers, the knight was at ease amongst the mounds of dirty pans and smoke stained walls.  “Fighting nobles in hallways by night and pilfering supplies by dawn?  You’re somewhat of surprise, Darcy.” 

She started a dismissive shrug but halted when recalling what that did to her chest.  “What can I say, sir,” she teased.  “I am the best surprise you ever shall meet.  And the most modest.”

He chuckled and Darcy grinned at him.  It was almost odd to recall the cold, emotionless expression he’d held in the hall when viewing those nobles who’d followed her.  It was so different to now, with the way his eyes crinkled from the laughter and how his lips parted as he smiled at her in return. 

A tug on her skirt interrupted Darcy’s thoughts.  It was a two pronged attack; Peter the page, plus the young scullery maid, had snuck up on her. Though when Sir Clint glanced down at the pair, the girl became bashful and tried to wedge herself behind Darcy’s legs. 

“Shouldn’t you be asleep, Peter?” Darcy said, though the boy had the ruffled hair and bright eyes of a child who may have gone to bed but was too excited to slumber.  It was the look they all had before their annual Naming Day and Yuletide.

“I wanted to see the knights again.”  Peter squinted at Sir Clint through narrowed eyes.  “Though you don’t look so scary now, sir.”

Clint lowered himself into a crouch, bringing himself level with the boy.  “It’s the arrows, right?  Everyone hates it when I forget to bring the arrows.”  He drew out the words, clowning around with a big sigh and falling into a face that somehow reminded Darcy of a mournful puppy.  The girl giggled and Darcy felt the grip on her skirt loosen.  Clint leant around Darcy’s legs so he could make eye contact with the youngster. “And what’s your name, little one?”

“Abigail,” was the whispered response, before she hurriedly added, “I mean, Abigail, sir.”

Darcy gave the girl a pat on the head.  “This limpet here is the best apple peeler in the kitchen.”

Clint’s eyebrows rose as he glanced up at Darcy before returning his attention to Abigail.  “Is that so?”

“Yes sir.” Her reedy voice grew a little more confident.

“Well then.” Clint scooped Peter up from the floor.  In one effortless lift of his arms, he had the boy sitting atop his shoulders, small heels tapping against broad chest.  Darcy had to bite her lip to prevent a giggle at the squeak Abigail made when Clint extended a hand to her.  “I know someone who ate three serves of stewed apples tonight and would love to tell you how great they were.” 

Hopping up to sit on the counter, Darcy watched Clint transport the children across the kitchen.  It was true that Steve held magical sway over many women, because Abigail’s face lit up when the captain greeted her.  She brightened even more as she began gesturing with her narrow fingers the best way to cut fruit.  Perched atop Clint’s shoulders and at eye level with the captain, Peter then asked what it was like to be a knight.  A crowd of kitchen workers, most with rags or pots still in hand, gathered around as Steve began a tactful answer

“With all that talk of apples...” Beth said, handing one to Darcy as she slid up to take a seat beside her.  Darcy took the small, hard offering and bit into it.  There was a reason it hadn’t been sufficient for serving to the nobles, but it would do.

Beth rolled her own apple between her palms, eyes downcast.  “Thank you.  For before.”

Darcy bumped Beth’s shoulder with her own.  “I owed you for sewing up Lady Lorelei’s dress after I scrubbed it too hard in the washing tub.  Which I still maintain was a complete accident.”

“It’s not...”

“You look after your friends Beth.  It’s what decent folk do.”  Darcy took a large bite of the apple, forcing the conversation to drift off as she chewed.  They fell silent and watched the two knights continue to win over the crowd.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like,” Beth started in a contemplative manner, her stare lingering on Sir Steve.  “To be with someone like Sir Steve?” 

The flesh of the fruit caught in Darcy’s throat and she coughed.  “What d’you mean?” 

“I mean...”  Beth twisted a strand of her blonde hair around her fingers.  “I know a knight can only love a lady.  But imagine being loved by someone like that.  A good man.  A brave man who risks his life for others but remains so pure and kind as to want to make even the lowest scullery maid laugh.”

As Darcy observed Sir Clint, Beth’s words rung true with more force than she cared to admit.  The realisation startled her.  Then Darcy felt a strong urge to slap herself. This was the fodder of poems written to woo women, like those in the books Jane had been so fond of once.  She had devoured the small leather volumes around the time when Jane’s body had begun changing and Darcy had struggled to understand why stories of boys loving girls was of such interest to her lady.  She’d found it silly then and though the reasons were now different, it was still a fool’s dream. 

It was as Lord Erik had said.  The world would only give so much and it would never give a servant girl permission to love a knight. 

“You gonna finish that?”  The new voice didn’t wait for a reply.  Claire had the largest, prettiest green eyes Darcy had ever seen and they were a little wild as she took the apple from Darcy’s hand.  “And have you seen Sir Bruce?” she asked before taking a bite.

Darcy snatched her dinner back.  She liked Claire, a bold confident individual, but she was a notorious food thief.  “Have you lost your knight already?”

“It’s not funny,” the girl whined.  It was enough to draw Beth’s attention away from her study of Sir Steve.  “One minute he was at the table which, by the by, thanks for leaving the rest of us to take care of, and then he was gone.  So the lord says go find him.  And Sir Bruce has been nice.”  Claire paused, as if considering that.  “Maybe the nicest noble ever.  But I don’t want to go looking for him in the dark.  I’ve heard the songs.”

“Oh?”  Clint’s voice startled them all. He’d approached them without making a sound and he seemed smug as he reclaimed his spot next to Darcy.  “What do the songs say?”

“That he turns into an enormous green monster, sir.”  Claire was nothing if not forthright and honest - possibly even more so than Darcy.  Or perhaps her time with Jane had simply taught Darcy a tiny bit more tact.  Still, there was a reason that Claire was rarely allowed near the nobility. 

Clint merely chuckled and leant back on his elbows.  He exuded such an informal air that it was easy to forget he was a knight.  Though Darcy was beginning to suspect he did that on purpose to disarm the servants around him.  “I wouldn’t worry about Bruce.  He just likes to get away from the noise after awhile.  He’ll be somewhere like the gardens or anywhere peaceful.”

With a groan, Claire rolled her eyes.  “Is he insane?  Have you felt the chill outside, sir?  I’m going to freeze looking for him.  And I left my wrap in the quarters and so of course I can’t get it because of all those sweaty footmen who’ve taken them over...”

“What did you say?” Darcy interrupted, sitting up straighter. 

With a blink, Claire angled her head.  “Did you not hear?  Most of the guests are staying the eve for the festivities tomorrow.  Their men need a place to rest.  Guess whose beds have been given away to accommodate them all?”

“They gave away my bed?!” Darcy said, indignation taking control of her tongue.  Despite her closeness to Jane, Darcy slept with the other servants in the quarters.  A handful of girls shared each little walled off area of space and had their own pallet of straw to sleep upon.  It was not much but it had always been hers. 

“Mine too,” Claire reminded her.  “And Chrissy’s and hers.”  She pointed to Beth after referring Sir Tony’s attendant.  “And you know what the steward said?  ‘Go sleep with the knights.  It’s what you’re here for.’”

Clint shifted against the counter and Darcy bit her lip to hold back several replies.  Claire frowned, as if reconsidering her words, before giving a small shrug.  She clearly did not care what it did to her bust.  “Or maybe it was something about sleeping in the knights’ quarters.  I don’t remember the exact detail.”

Beth spoke up, her reply addressed to Clint.  “He would mean the squires’ room, sir, behind the rooms intended for the knights.”  Darcy had almost forgotten that space was there.  Their castle was not the most well visited in the kingdom and knights were an infrequent occurrence at best.

With a loud snort, Claire shook her head, sending her long, dark hair flying about.  “You enjoy that.  I’ll find a space with Bennie instead.”  Her long-time suitor worked with the blacksmith and had his own bed above the forge.

A question niggled at Darcy.  “Do you know who made this choice about where we’d sleep?” She felt she knew the answer already.  There had been enough stares at her clothes that evening.  Now being shut off from the other servants and sleeping close to the knights... it would be more than just a couple of drunk nobles calling her a whore.

“Twas the same person who decided on this,” Claire said, stretching out a finger and poking Darcy through her bodice.  Darcy swatted the hand away though her heart wasn’t in it.  Perhaps this really was Lady Lorelei’s elaborate punishment for not kissing her noble feet.

Clint pushed himself upright.  His informal air dropped away and for a moment he resembled a soldier in all his bearings.  “Steve will take Claire and Beth back to the hall.  He can explain to the others that Sir Bruce will come back when he wants to.”  He did offer a hand to Darcy to assist her off the counter top and despite the brusque words, his touch upon her was gentle.  “I’ll take this one and make sure we have enough space for everyone to sleep tonight.” 

There were loud complaints from the children when Steve advised he was returning to the feast, though another scullery maid took them in hand along with firm promises to get the youngest to bed.  Clint led Darcy through the rear door where she did have to resist rubbing her forearms against the chill.  They took the longer route to avoid being waylaid at the hall, taking them past the granary and around the corner through the edge of the gardens.

 Torches burned along the top of the inner walls that loomed over them, illuminating the few guards keeping watch from above.  The light did not spread far and beyond the deeply shadowed gardens loomed the courtyard, cloaked in almost total darkness.  But the roses were still in full bloom and tinted the air with their sweet fragrance.  Darcy let her fingertips brush over the petals as they passed one bush bursting with buds.  Perhaps Sir Bruce was not so strange as to seek some peace here.

The knights’ quarters was a wide stone building that sat beside the armoury and close to the great hall.  Upon approach the noise of carousing could be faintly heard through the castle’s thick walls. “Sounds like at least someone is enjoying the wine,” said Clint, his good humour fully returned. 

“I hope they’ll enjoy the ache in their heads tomorrow, sir,” Darcy replied as she stepped beneath the broad archway into the wide corridor linking each private room.  She had not been part of the preparation of this little used part of the castle, though when she had shown Sir Clint to his room after the tour it had been swept and scrubbed thoroughly.  “The squire quarters are to the back.”  She could only hope it had been cleaned also.

Darcy lifted a candle from the row of holders.  It was a feeble light but it guided her and Clint around the blocky corners until arrived at the room.  Clint reached for the pale, splintered door before she could.  The old metal lever was slightly rusted and it took a shove from Clint before it gave way.

“Whoever cleaned could at least have oiled it,” Darcy muttered beneath her breath.  But as the door swung open and the candlelight revealed the interior, it was clearly the least of the problems.  No one had touched a rag to this place for years.  Everything was coated in thick dust and possibly mildew.  A small pool of rainwater glistened in the corner beneath a hole in the thatching.  The old pallets upon the floor had turned black and grey with age.

“No,” Clint said firmly.  He moved to close the door and Darcy braced her shoulder against it in protest.  This was not the worst place she’d ever lain and if not here, she would be forced to sleep in the cold courtyard.

“It will be fine sir.  It’s just for one night.”

Then came a scratching noise and a high pitched chittering.  Something black and furry and with a long tail scurried across the floor.

“No.”  Clint shuddered almost violently.  “Just... no.  Sleep in my room.”

“Sir...”

He cut off her words with an exasperated groan.  “No.  No sirs.  I wouldn’t let a mangy dog lie in that room, let alone you.  Can we just forget the stupid rules for tonight and deal with the scandals in the morning?” 

Once again, he was not ordering her.  Clint was frustrated, that was clear, though Darcy knew the emotion was not directed at her.  But still, while it would grant him his desire through one command, he still asked instead.

It made him hard to refuse.

“Very well, sir.  But I do not share beds.  We clear?”

Clint stared at her and Darcy gave a small tilt of her head, waiting for his acceptance of the agreement.  It came in the form of a respectful nod and tilt of his lips in the shadows of his face. 

“I don’t share beds either.  What kind of knight do you take me for?”  He took the candle from her hand before shutting the rotting door with a bang. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Britt1975 who beta'd this chapter and is always one of the best cheerleaders around.


	5. Chapter 5

The light of dawn crept through slats in the wall as Darcy woke. Though she was not sure she had truly left the land of slumber because the waking world was never so soft beneath her body. Darcy wanted to nestle deeper into the soft bedding, so plump with duck down and warm with woollen blankets. Perhaps she could avoid leaving this dream for a little longer.

A rustle from the floor interrupted her blissful contemplations. Darcy realised she was truly awake and so at ease because she rested in a knight’s bed. And the knight who it rightfully belonged to instead slept on a tiny pallet built for a squire half his size. A knight who proved a light sleeper, for as soon as Darcy sat bolt upright in bed, he did the same, throwing off the blanket while hands reached for the bow nearby.

“What is it?” he asked in a voice cracked with sleep. His hair stood in tussled spikes and while he had remained in his pants, his silk shirt had been deposited on a stool and replaced with naught.

Darcy immediately diverted her focus from that bare chest. Not fast enough to wash the image from her mind. “Sorry sir. I was... surprised to see you on the floor.”

There was a motion in the corner of her eye and when she dared a quick glance back, Sir Clint had returned the bow to its resting spot and draped the blanket around his shoulders. It hung loose and skin was visible throat to navel, but he did not move to cover it and Darcy could not stare at the ceiling forever. 

“Well, we did agree there would be no sharing of the bed,” said Clint as he worked some knots out of his neck.

“Yes sir. I remember us repeating that conversation very clearly when you asked me to warm the bed for you while you went to do your nightly washing.” 

Clint smirked. “That’s true.” 

She frowned at his evasiveness. “And when you returned from your washing...”

“You were asleep.” He studied her, as if contemplating his next statement. “You looked peaceful. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.” Clint held her gaze for a moment before glancing away. “And you know. Sometimes those featherbeds make my eyes water. Hawks and geese don’t mix well.” 

It was a ridiculous excuse, but Darcy appreciated him trying. “Thank you, sir.” She said it with the deepest sincerity before grinning and running her fingers across the sheets. “Because I’ll have you know that featherbeds and I mix very well. I just hope you didn’t find the straw bedding too uncomfortable.

“It’s what you sleep on normally, right?” Clint shrugged before he leant his back against the wall. “I’m not going to complain.”

“Other nobles would.” The barbed comment slipped out and Darcy stilled her hands. “I’m sorry sir. I shouldn’t have spoken that way.” She found she couldn’t bear to look him, should she see offence in his face. “I’ll go now.” Darcy threw the covers off before realising the nightdress she’d borrowed had bunched up during her sleep. She yanked the hem down her thighs as her cheeks began to flush. 

Clint took a seat beside Darcy, the bedding shifting beneath his weight. “Being a knight makes me part of the nobility. I don’t pretend otherwise.” His voice was neutral as took the edge of the blankets and pulled them back over her lap. “But we’re not above reproach.”

Darcy shook her head. “It’s not my place to say either way, sir.”

A warm hand cupped her cheek. There was no pressure to Clint’s touch, but she raised her face to meet his. Tension sat around his features and he held a hard set to his mouth. “Darcy. You should have every right to say whatever thought crosses your mind. And the fact that you can’t...” A muscle twitched in his jaw.

Her throat felt dry, all the moisture having burnt away at the feel of his fingers upon her skin. “I don’t know sir. It might be safer this way. I do have a lot of ridiculous thoughts.” 

The words were light, but not enough to remove the discomfort in Clint’s expression. It left a tightness in her and Darcy’s own hands itched to take action; to offer a reassuring squeeze or brush her fingers through that dishevelled hair until he was smiling again. 

“What are you thinking now?” Clint’s voice ran low and Darcy watched him through her lashes as she nestled her cheek into his palm, his thumb catching the edge of her lips.

“That you’re a good man, sir.” It was a simple answer. But it was true.

His countenance did change, though not to something she recognised. “It you knew what was going on inside my head right now, you wouldn’t say that.” Clint lowered his hand and it was his turn to stare at the ceiling as he exhaled slowly. 

“I doubt it could be that bad sir,” she teased.

“You’d be surprised.” But he did have a wry twist to his lips when his head finally ducked down again. He rose from his seat on the bed, the blanket falling from his shoulders. “I need to go check in with Steve. He said something last night about Thor volunteering the Avenging Knights as entertainment today.” Clint bent down and retrieved his bow. “But you can stay here as long as you wish.”

“As nice as that would be,” Darcy said with a hint of regret, “we have a castle full of guests who’ve stayed the eve. I should be helping.”

“I’ll order you to remain in bed if that helps.” Clint looked at her for moment, his weight shifting while he did. “And if you’re going to have problems because you were forced to sleep in here last night, I’ll make it a real order. You can stay in bed all day.”

“And miss the opportunity to see you use that?” Darcy gestured towards the bow and Clint’s eyes narrowed. She scrunched up her nose and gave the lightest shrug. “Sir, there’s going to be talk. But today there’s not going to be time for much more and I can handle a bit of gossip.”

Clint assessed her a little longer before he nodded. “Alright. But if there’s anything you can’t handle, tell me. Deal?”

She made a small salute in reply. Clint threw her a wink as he lifted his top from where it rested. Darcy tried to lower her gaze politely, but found herself peeking through her lashes. She was drawn in by the way his body bent and shifted as he slid his arms through the sleeves, swapping the bow between his hands, and pulled the shirt smoothly over his head. When the silk had finished slithering down his chest, Darcy realised she’d been holding her breath. And perhaps Clint had noticed, because his expression was unreadable as he slid out the door.

* * *

From the kitchen, morning meals were being carried off in all directions; most went to guests taking their food in their room, choosing to nurse their ailments there instead of a more communal space. And there were a few pointed stares in her direction when she arrived, but Darcy continued to ignore them as she bore her load towards the great hall. There the knights had gathered around a table, avoiding the empty one upon the dais. The only Avenging Knight Darcy could see absent was Prince Thor, though as part of the betrothed couple he would likely have other duties to attend to.

Sir Tony was amongst those suffering from the lingering effects of the wine, judging from how he hunched over the table and squinted against the morning light. All the servants were avoiding staring at the blue light glowing through his fine shirt.

“Not so loud,” Tony said as Claire deposited a plate piled high with eggs and tomatoes, hot from the pan. He looked at the serving of food and then glared down the table towards Sir Steve. “And how come he has so much bacon? Who can I throw coin at to obtain my own pig?”

Sir Clint lounged in his chair and had claimed another to prop his feet upon. “Sometimes it’s more about who you know than who you pay, Tony.” His arms sat folded behind his head and he gave Darcy an appreciative nod as she lowered a meal full of glistening rashers before him.

Tony grunted. “We’ll see about that.” He rummaged in the pouch at his waist and drew out silver coins, waving them towards Claire. “Shackled person. Bring me more wine.”

The girl stared at the coins, clearly tempted, before the herald Pepper placed her hand over Tony’s and lowered it. “Not here,” Pepper murmured. “And maybe some water instead,” she directed to the servant girl.

More refreshment were indeed due, so Claire gathered the water and Darcy obtained some juice squeezed fresh from a sacks worth of oranges. When they returned to the table to begin dispensing, Tony was still complaining about the wine.

Steve finally interrupted him. “Stark, please. Nothing fermented. Not until we’re finished with the demonstrations of skill for the lord and lady today.” Buntings were already beginning to be hung in the courtyard and an air of excitement was beginning to build, especially amongst the few children who Darcy had seen running around. 

Tony continued to seem less than festive. He scowled at the water sitting before him. “You know, now I’m sober I’m not so sold on being part of Thor’s mating ritual. Not that I’m judging Asgardian habits, but if wants to show he can defend Lady Jane’s honour and virtue and various other noble traits, he had enough brawny mass to do it himself.”

Natasha had a pear in hand and was peeling off the skin with a small knife. “I don’t want to get back in the armour either Stark, but it’s a good idea.” The other knights gaped at her until Natasha made a dismissive wave of her blade. “Not for the whole ‘wooing my betrothed’ thing. That’s kind of ridiculous.”

“Natasha’s right,” said Pepper. “We came with Thor as a sign of solidarity between the two realms. But all of you are just characters in a story to these people who didn’t see the war. This is a chance for them to see you in action. Live up to the legend, so to speak.”

Steve nodded in agreement. “People do need something to give them confidence they’re safe.”

A piece of bacon gave way beneath Clint’s fork. “Or to inspire them to fight, if the rainbow bridge north of here was ever breached.” He glanced briefly towards Darcy. She had seen the bridge once; a large gleaming structure that sat on the far edge of Lord Erik’s lands.

“That’s one possible threat,” said Natasha, slicing a slab of fruit and popping it into her mouth.

Sir Bruce glanced between the group. “You all understand that the other fellow isn’t making an appearance today, right?”

“Hey, no escaping your brothers-in-arms obligations,” said Tony, pointing across the table at Bruce. “I put on the suit, you put on the green.”

The conversation continued; the flow comfortable and familiar amongst the group. While Darcy refilled Pepper’s goblet a witty retort from Natasha made the whole table laugh and Darcy glanced in Clint’s direction to see him chuckling along with the other. Unlike how he’d been the previous evening amidst the room full of nobles, he now sat at ease and traded quick remarks between mouthfuls of food. 

Then Darcy realised she was staring and promptly diverted her attention elsewhere.

“My friends,” Thor said as he approached the table, one large hand clasping Steve’s shoulder in greeting. “Please excuse my absence, but I have been deep in conversation with the Lady Jane as we walked the castle this morn.”

Tony perked up. “And you’ve come to tell us you’ve sweet-talked your intended into skipping all the formalities and just eloping with you?”

Although Darcy wasn’t entirely unconvinced Sir Stark was speaking in jest, Thor grinned in response. “Alas, we are not at that point in our courtship. But the fine lady is most keen for the citric juice good Darcy has in her hands.” Thor gestured to the high table where Jane had taken a seat on her own and was being presented a bowl of bread by another servant. “If you would not mind excusing your attendant for a short while, Sir Clint?”

Clint inclined his head to Thor and then Darcy. “Or course.” Darcy made a bobbing curtsey before she had turn her back to him and cross the floor to where Jane sat. The other servant was dismissed and ducked away towards the kitchen.

“Darcy,” Jane said in relief, keeping her voice hushed. “I have missed you.”

“I’m sorry my lady,” said Darcy, taking her time with the pouring. “But my service to Sir Clint...”

“I know.” Jane sighed. “Speak honestly; he has treated you well?”

“Very much, my lady.” They were not truly alone, but no one else yet sat at the high table so Darcy risked the question. “And how have your conversations with Prince Thor been?”

Jane broke off a piece of bread while she considered a reply. “They have been... tolerable.” But the small smile lifting her lips spoke of something a little more than just tolerable. And while Darcy was keen to hear more of the details, Lord Erik joined his daughter along with Lady Lorelei and their conversation was forced into silence. Thor took a seat as Darcy finished with the last of the juice and she darted to the kitchen. The prince had proven to hold a healthy appetite the previous evening and it would need a few sets of hands to bring the meal to the high table.

* * *

The knights had taken their leave after breakfast, quite insistent that for the rest of the morning they would not be in need of their attendants. At least, the four that remained. Natasha’s young farmhand had disappeared in the night. She had been unconcerned, merely mentioning something about the boy having a weak stomach and that she’d borrow one of the other servants if she needed. 

“She kind of scares me,” Beth admitted while she swept Sir Natasha’s floor. 

Shifting about on her knees, Darcy yanked the sheets tight around the bed. “Me too. Just a little.” It was likely the reason why they had left this room until last to clean. Even just touching Natasha’s bed made her nervous. Claire and Chrissy had been keen to avoid even entering the room; instead they bartered their share of the cleaning for the midday meal duties in the kitchen.

As Darcy smoothed the top blankets back into place, she told herself that Sir Natasha hadn’t said _not_ to freshen up her accommodations. She just made sure not to touch the ominous dark leather case sitting in one corner. Beth did the same.

“Do you think we will be returning to our own beds tonight?” Beth asked, leaning against the broom handle. “While it was kind of Sir Steve to stay in another room and let Chrissy and myself use his, I would hate to be a burden again.”

Darcy rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead. “The nobles should be leaving once they’ve seen the Avenging Knights show their prowess. Or at least I hope they will, otherwise the pantry won’t have enough to feed us through the winter.” And she was only half in jest.

Beth resumed the sweeping. “And the knights are here for two more evenings?”

“That’s what I’ve heard.” Darcy rolled off her knees and sat back against the bed frame. They had been working for a few hours and she needed a moment’s pause. Or was it the thought of the knights leaving that had made it harder to breathe?

Following her lead, Beth propped the broom against the wall and took a seat beside Darcy. “I want to leave here. I want to leave with the knights when they go.”

The statement stunned Darcy. Not just for its suddenness, but for the serious manner in which it was presented. “Beth... what’s gotten into you?” Darcy paused, wondering just how appropriate that question might be. “Did something happen with you and Sir Steve last night?”

“No.” Beth almost laughed as Darcy continued to stare at her. “Nothing happened, I swear. Darcy, I’m not as worldly as some, but I’m not a complete child. We stayed a little while in the hall after most had retired. Sir Steve insisted he retrieve a blanket to keep me warm.” Her smile softened at the memory. “We talked and then he escorted me here. He took Sir Stark’s room, like planned. I slept in his. Like you’d have known if you hadn’t fallen asleep elsewhere.”

Darcy huffed. “That was an accident.”

“I believe you.” The other girl shifted on the ground. “I’m not saying I am in love with Sir Steve. Not yet, at least.”

“That’s a relief.”

Beth frowned at her before continuing. “But Darcy, you’re the one who talks about how we shouldn’t let our circumstances define us. How we should find our own happiness.”

“And that’s true.” More than anything, she had to believe it was true. “But Beth, we’re not free to just leave. And even if we were, it would be insane to use our freedom picking the path that you know would lead to utter disaster.”

“Why couldn’t there be joy with him?” Beth folded her arms over the blankets, laying her head upon them. 

Darcy sighed. She rested her hands in her lap while staring at the open door and the daylight pouring in. “Where does this story really end Beth? Does he stay loyal and devoted while waiting for the servant girl who is still scrubbing floors, serving the lord she is in debt to? Does he marry her, knowing he’d be mocked forever for his choice in wife?” She could not look at her friend, though she tried to keep the harshness from her voice.

“If any man would, it would be him.” Beth was soft spoken, but Darcy could hear the conviction in her voice. “Sir Clint too, I believe.”

“Beth...” It came out laid with warning.

“Do you really feel nothing with the way he looks at you? Because he feels something, this I’m sure of.”

“All Sir Clint would be feeling by now is the urge to eat. They’ve been down in the field preparing for some time now.” Darcy scrambled to her feet, propelled by a powerful urge to escape this conversation and the sudden wrench her in her chest. “I’ll go to the kitchen and get something for him. For them. All of them.” 

From behind her, Beth sighed as Darcy darted from the room.

* * *

Her mind a jumble of confusing thoughts, Darcy took a spot beside Claire in the kitchen. The other girl was preparing a large basket of food, her hands busy stuffing cold meat and herbs into crusty bread rolls, and she glanced at Darcy upon her arrival.

“Lorelei wants us to take this down to the knights. It’s almost ready, so be prepared to break your back carrying it.” Claire leant a little closer before whispering under her breath. “I don’t know who’s been stirring the pot, but it’s gotten bad in here. Chrissy’s already run off crying.”

Darcy frowned, glancing around the large room filled with servants handling the midday meal. Several sets of eyes diverted away as she did, though not fast enough to hide the judgment, and the tightness in Darcy’s chest began sinking to her stomach. “What can I do to help?” The sooner the food was finished, the sooner they could leave.

Claire gestured towards one of the smaller ovens. “The last of the pot pies are in there.”

Taking a tray under one arm and a thick cloth to protect her hands, Darcy crouched beside the hot brick oven and reached through the opening for the first of the pie tins. 

“Harlot.” The insult was muttered, but loud enough for Darcy to hear. She did her best to ignore it and continued her work, though the whispered comments seeped in through the noises of the kitchen.

“Always did think she was better, carrying on with the lady how she does.”

“Not just her. It’s always the whelps making it so nobles think they can have their way with us.”

Teeth gritted tight, Darcy grumbled as her hand brushed the baking rack and singed her fingertips. She yanked out the last of the pies and stomped back to the counter, skirt flaring around her legs.

“Told you,” Claire said as Darcy began wrapping squares of fabric around the golden crusts.

“I won’t last forever,” Darcy replied, though as much to reassure herself as anything. “They’ll find something else to talk about.”

Through the kitchen windows there came a crack of bone breaking and a flurry of yelled curses. Claire and Darcy stared at each other before dropping whatever was in their hands and running out the back door.

Claire’s suitor, Bennie, was shaking out his hand as if in pain. One of the stable hands stood hunched over with blood spurting from his nose. Spread around the small enclosure was near half a dozen men, seemingly split between the two sides of the quarrel.

“Oh look,” one man said upon noticing Darcy and Claire’s arrival. “Here come the whores.”

Bennie lurched forward, only to be stopped by Claire and the tight grips of a couple of the other blacksmiths. Darcy in turn took a spot directly between Bennie and the man he’d hit, should things turn even more sour.

Another of the men took his turn to leer at Darcy, blatantly eyeing her up and down. “Now that a knight’s been there, how much is your time worth Lewis?”

Claire butted in before Darcy could even reply. “More than you’d ever be able to afford Jim.”

Catcalls emerged from the crowd and Darcy had to resist rolling her eyes. 

“Hey. They’re good girls,” said Bennie. “All of them. Just servants like the rest of us.”

“That’s the point through,” said Jim, inching forward from the group. He took a few steps towards Darcy and she saw the test in his beady eyes; waiting for her to flinch or show a hint of guilt. Her chin stayed raised defiantly, even as he grew closer. “Us servants have a code. Sense of honour. And we stick with our own. So when girls like these refuse men like us, but drop their garments for the first knight to wave their dick at them...” He sneered at Darcy before spitting right in her face.

A split second later, hands were either pulling people back or being curled into fists to throw the next punch. Darcy was amongst those with a tight grip on her shoulder trying to keep her from smacking Jim right in the eye socket. A fully fledged brawl was about to break out when a loud voice bellowed from the doorway, halting them all.

“Enough!” Cook strode in the melee, waving a ladle in one hand and a carving knife in the other. “I won’t have this outside my kitchen or in my castle.” The knife got pointed at various individuals. “All of you get back to work. You want some food, come back later when you got your tempers under control.” 

With muttered grunts, the men dispersed until just Claire, Darcy and Bennie remained. Cook glanced at Bennie’s hand before gesturing towards it. “There’s some yarrow growing behind the north tower. You and your woman go gather some and stick it on your knuckles. Then disappear for a couple of hours. And you...” The ladle got pointed at Darcy. 

“This isn’t right,” Darcy finally said in protest. 

“Doesn’t matter lovie,” Cook said, pointing her towards a bucket of water that sat towards the edge of the yard. “Go wash your face and take Beth and the food to these troublesome knights.”

Cooked turned and went back through the door. Darcy could hear her chastise the kitchen and there was a loud rustle of shuffling feet and people resuming their work. She turned her back on it and walked towards the bucket. Going to her knees, she dunked her hand in the water.

It took a little longer for her white-knuckled fist to uncurl enough to bring the water to her cheek.


	6. Chapter 6

Halfway between the castle and the nearest village sat a large clearing in the forest.  The grass there was smooth and the ground well worn; flattened each summer with the pounding of feet when games of shinty and stoolball were played by children and adults alike.  That day it was where the Avenging Knights, along with their weapons, had departed for so as to prepare for the demonstration.  It was not a long walk there, down the well-beaten dirt road from the castle, though the heavy basket Darcy and Beth carried between them did slow their journey.  Darcy had apologised to Beth for running off, and Beth had promised to let the subject of Sir Clint rest.  They instead talked of how the trees would soon shed their leaves and of the winter ahead. 

Darcy did briefly mention what had happened in the kitchen, so that Beth would not be caught unprepared upon their return.  She did however skip over some of the more discouraging details.  In part it was to spare Beth too much worry, but also to avoid the knights hearing of the near-brawl, should Beth feel cause to share.  As much regard as Darcy had for Sir Clint, matters would only become worse if the nobles got involved.  It was the same with Lady Jane; as strong a bond as they might have, Darcy could not run to Jane to solve her problems.  She had to deal with them unaided, just as any other servant would.

They reached the narrow, winding path that led off the dirt road and took them to the clearing.  But as Darcy and Beth approached, the tranquil forest noises were replaced by the clang of metal hitting metal and heavy grunts as bodies hit the ground.

“Oh my...” Beth said, nearly dropping the basket they carried between them as they stepped out beyond the trees.

Darcy’s tired arm wrenched with the weight, but she had nothing to add to Beth’s broken comment.  It was rare for her to be surprised herself into silence.  And while she had often observed the few soldiers that guarded Lord Erik’s domain in their training, this was nothing she’d ever seen before.

Prince Thor swung his hammer overhead and brought it down with a clang upon Sir Steve, who held his shield aloft to catch the blow.  Just the noise made Darcy shiver; it rang with power and sent vibrations through the air.  The two men paused and adjusted their stance before Thor swung again, Steve ducking away this time.  Neither wore their armour, only simple vests and trousers, and while they did not appear to be fighting in earnest, a single blow from Mjolnir would surely shatter Sir Steve’s bones.  

Sir Natasha and Sir Clint were without weapons, but their hits appeared far less restrained than Prince Thor’s.  Even as Beth and Darcy approached, the two knocked each other to the ground with ferocious intent before rolling upright and launching into the next assault.  And if there had been any doubt to Sir Natasha’s prowess in Darcy’s mind, it was erased upon witnessing how she launched into the air and caught Clint’s neck between her thighs before twisting his body until it lay sprawled upon the grass.

“That’s cheating Nat,” he could be heard grumbling.

“I know,” Natasha replied.  “But food has arrived.”

Thor and Steve halted also, placing their weapons aside.  “Good Darcy and Beth.  Indeed, a welcome interruption,” Prince Thor greeted.  Both Darcy and Beth lowered into a curtsey, made more awkward by the basket held between them.

“Here, let me take that,” Steve said as he approached, lifting the wicker handle with barely a grunt of exertion.  “You carried this all the way here?”

Darcy nodded.  “Had to make sure you were all well fed before this afternoon, sir.”

“We brought these also, should you need them to sit upon.”  Beth lifted a pair of thin woollen blankets that lay draped upon her shoulders.  Darcy had brought a set also and Clint stepped up to take them from her hand.  A hint of a frown creased his brow as he grew close, but it disappeared so quickly Darcy thought she may have imagined it.

“I shall venture into the forest and find where Sir Tony and Sir Bruce have wandered,” Thor said.  “They had become weary of the preparations and departed in search of elements for their experiments.  But they would be chagrined if they were to miss this fine meal.”

Natasha was observing Sir Steve as he accepted the blanket from Beth.  For Darcy, the tender smiles being shared between the two made her nervous.  Sir Natasha instead seemed inclined towards amusement.  “I’ll join you Thor,” she added.  “Need to stretch my legs after that beating they gave Clint.”

“You’re hilarious Nat,” said Clint.  The smile Natasha directed at him was fond before she departed with Thor into the trees.

Steve spread out one of the cloths upon a soft spot of grass lit by the midday sun.  He smoothed the corners flat and gestured towards Beth and Darcy.  “Please, join us.”

Beth’s eyes went wide.  Darcy attempted to decline with a polite shake of her head.  “Thank you sir, but it would be unseemly if we...”  Darcy’s words were halted as Clint took Beth by the shoulders and guided her smoothly towards Steve. 

“Order her to sit,” Clint suggested. 

A disapproving glare settled on Steve’s features.  “Clint.”  His expression did lighten as it turned towards Beth.  “Please, I would very much like it if you shared this meal with me.”

Darcy was unsure if she should smile or grimace as a blush began on Beth’s cheeks.  “As you wish, sir,” Beth said, gathering her skirts as she lowered to sit on the blankets edge.  Sir Steve seemed pleased and began selecting from amongst the food still wrapped in squares of fabric. 

Clint had already deposited several of the small packages upon his blanket, though he used the cloth to lift them up in a bundle as he stood.  “I want to knock out a few arrows before I eat,” he said, slinging his equipment over his shoulders.  A free hand was placed upon Darcy’s back and began gently nudging her forward.  “We’ll move down there so we don’t disturb you.”

Leaving Beth and Steve alone seemed a terrible idea, but Beth’s happy smile made Darcy bite her tongue.  She did however frown up towards Clint when they were out of earshot.  “I never figured you for a matchmaker, sir.”

His brows raised a hairbreadth.  “Sounds like you don’t approve.”

“It’s not that sir,” she said, pausing to blow out a heavy breath. “I just think someone’s going be hurt.”  Keeping his pace with hers, the hand Clint had pressed against her spine slid to Darcy’s shoulder where it settled into place.  A dozen thoughts ran through Darcy’s head, but were all oddly silenced by the reassuring press of Clint’s heavy arm around her.

They walked in silence until Clint stopped at a point near the furthest corner of the clearing.  His hand lifted from Darcy as he deposited his items on a wide, low tree stump that had been sawn flat many years ago to sit at hip height.  The blanket was unwrapped and the food examined.  “Hungry?”

She glanced at the pile of food and considered how long it had been since she’d had time to eat.  But it was ingrained in her, the consequences of eating food meant for a noble. “I can’t have any of that, sir.  I’ll go into the woods and find some berries.”

Clint’s expression grew hard, the same way it had the previous evening when he’d asked what would happen if Darcy sat and rested from her serving.  “I don’t think so.”  He turned and took Darcy by the waist, lifting her to sit upon the edge of the tree stump.  By the time she was seated, warmth had returned to his face.  Clint selected one of the still-hot pot pies and held it before Darcy.  “I really hate eating alone,” he said in a wheedling tone. 

Darcy stared at him, biting her lip, before looking down at the golden pastry.  She could smell the baked meat inside and her stomach rumbled in response.  And at least Claire had made those, not other pair of hands attached to someone who currently despised her.  “Just the one,” Darcy said as she accepted it.  “You’ll have to eat the rest.” 

Appearing satisfied with the compromise, Clint tugged his armguards into place before he slung the quiver over his back and moved a few steps away with his bow in hand.  One arrow was selected from the bundle and Clint rested it against the bowstring before his arms lifted, drawing the arrow tight in one fluid motion.  He wore a vest similar to the others, leaving his arms bare, but Darcy could not see a hint of strain in his limbs as he held the bow steady.  It seemed as easy as breathing for Clint as he selected a target from amongst the trees poking out from the edge of the forest and released his fingers.  The arrow lodged into a narrow branch with a muffled thud. 

“How long have you been doing that sir?”  Darcy asked before taking another hungry bite of the pot pie.  She had seen archery in use before, but not with such ease as Sir Clint displayed. 

Reaching over his shoulder for another arrow, Clint drew the bow again.  “Most of my life.  I started at a young age.”  He turned his eyes towards Darcy.  “Probably before you were even born.”  His attention was still on her as he loosened the arrow.  It hit the tree with a similar thump and Darcy broke her gaze from him to try and see where it had landed.  With the help of a squint, she judged it to be lodged right next to the first, though Darcy could not be sure with her sight.  It had never been as good as most people’s; Jane could count the leaves in a tree where for Darcy the edges would blur into too much green to tell one from the other. 

Clearly Sir Clint did not have the same problem.  He had made that shot without even looking.  He was... Darcy could not find the right word to describe him.  It was a feeling in her chest she did not have a name for.

Clint nocked another arrow, but pointed it towards the grass along with his gaze.  “You washed your face before coming here.”  His tone was steady, but beneath it was a hint of struggle to remain that way.  “Looks like you scrubbed pretty hard.”  Maybe he had earned the name Hawkeye for more than his aim; he seemed to always notice what everyone else would miss.  She wondered how long he had waited to ask the question.

The rustle of wind through the trees filled the silence as Darcy swallowed down her last mouthful of food.  “Maybe it was just dirty, sir.”  He didn’t reply; instead he studied the ground a while longer before drawing the bow and loosening it in one hard, strong motion that lasted barely a heartbeat.  The arrow drove through one of the previous shots, cleaving the wooden shaft in two. 

Clint rolled the grip of the bow between his fingers before lowering it and the quiver to the ground.  The lines of his arms were rigid, as if he was yet to release the tension from when he’d pulled the bowstring back.  The tightness was present in his face as Clint unstrapped the leather guards from his limbs and leapt up to take a seat beside Darcy, his body angled towards her own. 

The sun had been warm on Darcy’s skin but it didn’t compare to the heat that came as he cupped her hand with his and turned it to face her palm towards the sky.  Despite the strain she saw in him, Clint handled Darcy with a tender touch.  “You’re not a great liar, you know that, right?”   His thumb curled around and stroked a path over the tender side of her wrist.  “It’s sweet, but I’m kind of concerned about just how many arms I’m going to need to break if anyone tried to put even a finger on you.”  It would have sounded humorous from his inflections, if not for the unflinching set of his expression.  Darcy might have become familiar with the contrasting natures of Sir Clint, but she could barely comprehend this; that this knight, this man, seemed to care so strongly about what befell a servant girl like her. 

“No.  I mean, they didn’t.”  Darcy wrinkled her nose and his thumb lingered, soothing her skin. The simple feel of his fingers moving against her shouldn’t make her stomach flutter the way it did.  “At least, except for when some of the men held me back from punching another one in face.  Though he really did deserve it, sir.”

Clint studied her for a moment before a small smile broke his serious visage and the set of his chest eased.  “I thought throwing books was more your style.”

Darcy lifted a shoulder in the barest of shrugs.  “I had to improvise, sir.”   Part of her head was saying to remove her hand from his, but it was as if her limbs refused to comply with that command.  Instead they did the opposite, turning her hand against his until they rested palm to palm.  Darcy’s fingers curled until the tips were pressed against Clint warm, coarse skin and she felt his do the same.

“I don’t know what to do about you, Darce,” Clint said, his stare focused on their joined hands.  “But until I figure it out, I want you safe.  Stay where I can see you, for the rest of the day at least?”  He kept it a request, leaving her free to refuse.  And Darcy thought first to protest; to assert that he truly did not need to worry himself.  But the nine realms help her, Darcy didn’t want to protest.  It was idiotic and stupid and was leading her in to disaster, but she could not cause him concern if she could help it.

She was becoming the fool, indeed.

“You might become bored of the sight of me, sir,” Darcy said, making it a joke as she always did when the more honest words stuck in her throat.  Instead, her fingers tightened in the assent that her teasing words lacked. 

“I somehow doubt that is possible,” Clint replied, the same jest in his tone as he squeezed her hand in response.  

It was then that Thor’s voice came booming down the clearing, announcing his return with the other knights in tow.  The air felt cold on Darcy’s skin as their hands finally broke apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. It's a little shorter than the others, but this scene became longer than I'd expected and seems will fit best in it's own chapter. Plus I didn't want to keep my lovely readers waiting for another installment.


	7. Chapter 7

A festive spirit had settled over the castle.  All were excited to witness the Avenging Knights and the courtyard, where the demonstration was to be held, was abuzz with activity.  The blacksmiths, along with two carpenters from the village, had been busy; a hasty stage sat erected near the arched gateway with a pavilion for Lord Erik and Lady Jane assembled facing it.  The other nobles had claimed the various wooden benches spread out at tidy intervals.  A few sat with parasols in hand to shield them from the dappled afternoon sunlight that warmed the cobblestones and brightened the normally dull surroundings.  The walkways atop the castle walls had been opened to all others and were filled with servants and villagers.  From above, children sat atop parents’ shoulders and brave youths perched on the edges of the battlements, seeking the best view.  All were chomping on a handful of food and Darcy was engulfed by the smell of everything from dried fruits to small baked sweets. 

When a cartload of goods from merchants in the village had rolled past them on their return from the field to the castle, Darcy had been unable to pry from Clint which knight had bought up all the items.  His reply had simply been that it hadn’t been him, but Darcy later overheard Sir Steve ask Beth in hushed speech to ensure that the children got their fair share of the foodstuff.  Peter the young page had been seen bolting down hallways, chattering away at full speed, so it appeared that he had at least claimed a handful of boiled sugar treats.

Darcy propped herself against a stone wall in the small alcove where Clint waited with her for the demonstration to begin.  Some of the other knights had found their own sites to occupy, with Natasha having passed by earlier to make claim that she was forced to leave Sir Tony before she was forced to strangle him.  The suggestion had caused Darcy to wince, though Clint laughed instead.

“And to think I thought the castle well occupied last night,” Darcy mused as she surveyed the crowd. 

“People love a good show,” Clint said from behind her shoulder.  In that spirit, he had earlier bathed before changing into the same armour he had worn upon arriving the previous day.  It had been an impressive sight when he emerged from his room, but since that moment Darcy had found it safer to divert her eyes from him as much as possible. Otherwise she would become too distracted by the shift of his bare arms and how the leather fitted so snugly to the remainder of his body. 

It did not mean she was unaware of how near he stood to the rear her.  If she rocked back even a half-step she would find herself pressed close against him.  Since that moment in the field, with their hands clasped together, it felt as if all Darcy’s senses were occupied with how near or far the man was from her.

“You sure you’re alright with being here?” Clint asked.  “Seems those folks that were causing you problems are going to be out there.”

“They are.”  She couldn’t make out faces so well from this distance, but the stable hands had gathered atop the stable roof, carving out their own prime spot for observing the demonstration.  Darcy refused to look in that direction.  “But most of the people out there are decent at heart.  If I’m not bothered by those few idiots, you shouldn’t be either, sir.”

Clint drew breath as if to respond, but his words fell silent as Thor strode across the courtyard.  A rustle went through the audience, their excitement palpable in the air.  The prince did cut an imposing figure, aided by his freshly polished armour and heavy cloak billowing from behind.  Her curiosity suddenly piqued, Darcy angled her head to try and observe Lady Jane’s response.  The lady sat in her chair and resembled the figure of composure.  But with a squint, Darcy could observe Jane’s fingers plucking and pinching at her skirt.  It was one of her ‘thinking’ gestures and Darcy wondered what thoughts were agitating in her lady’s mind.

“Good people,” Thor began in greeting, his deep voice reaching the ears on the battlements with ease while his gaze swept the crowd, taking in nobles and peasants with equal regard.  “My friends and I have been welcomed most kindly by you all.”  Darcy chose to ignore the slight noise of disagreement Clint made from behind her and continued to listen to Thor’s speech.  “It has been a joy to visit, not merely for the infinite pleasure of the company of Lady Jane...” Thor’s voice paused as he regarded her.  Was Jane _blushing_?  Darcy could not tell, though whatever he observed lifted Thor’s features into a warm smile.  It lingered a moment before he settled once more into a serious visage to continue his speech. 

“But it has been a blessed relief to linger in a spot where the war with my brother and the Chitauri forces did not leave its tarnished stain upon the countryside.  Where the marks of peace remind us what we fight so ardently to preserve.  So good people, bear witness today this promise, from myself and from my friends, the Avenging Knights, that our weapons remain raised always in your defence and may the Great Tree have mercy on any who would dare threaten otherwise.”  Thor lifted his hand and with a rush of air, Mjolnir spun through the sky to land within his fist.  “And know that whatever may come...”  Once more he glanced towards Jane.  “Rest easy in the knowledge that this realm is now, and will always, be under our protection.”   

His words drew a ripple of excited claps and cheers from the gathered people.  More than a few nobles rapidly began to fan their faces, as if flushed from the excitement of the speech.  Or from the magnitude of Prince Thor himself, Darcy acknowledged. 

“Asgardian wooing always seems involve promises to exact violence somehow,” said Clint.  “Though I’m worried about how dramatic Thor will become if the lady refuses him for marriage.”

The comment did cause Darcy to glance over her shoulder, brows knotted in confusion.  “You believe she could refuse, sir?”

The knight’s gaze was steady.  “Thor isn’t faultless, but he’s not one who’d want a wife that was forced into marriage.  It won’t make King Odin happy if the prince defies the betrothal but it might happen.”  A wry smile tweaked his lips.  “So let’s hope Thor’s charms endear him to your lady.”

Her attention turned back to the crowd, Darcy knew a frown still creased her brows.  “You think Prince Thor cares so deeply that Lady Jane be happy, sir?”

Fingers brushed skin as Clint guided a lock of hair away from her neck.  “He wouldn’t be trying so hard if he wasn’t.”

It was the lightest of touches but still it took a slow inhale to steady Darcy’s composure.  She was grateful for the sudden fanfare of trumpets that rang through the courtyard and snatched up her attention.  Accompanying drums joined the beat of a rousing tune and then from the battlements, a shower of sparks and confetti burst further as Sir Stark came souring over the wall in his iron armour.

“He really can fly, sir?” Darcy asked in astonishment.   

“That’s just the start of it.”  And Clint’s statement proved true.  The Iron Man was capable of feats Darcy had never dreamed of.  Bursts of fire exploded from his palms to hit a row of targets with perfect accuracy.  He was able to hover above the ground, mask lifted as Sir Stark joked with the crowd.  It was not the sheer display of strength and power that Darcy had expected from a group of knights, but rather a show that also kept the audience enraptured with words and charm and dramatics. 

When Sir Stark asked for a brave volunteer from the crowd with the promise of lifting them in flight, Darcy found herself smiling in mirth when he selected one of the prettier girls.  “I see the other parts of the stories about Sir Tony also have some truths to them, sir.”

“More in the past they did.  Now it’s just that Pepper refuses to be part of the act, ever since he dropped her that one time,” Clint replied amidst a grunt.  Turning fully away from her watching of Sir Stark, Darcy observed Clint with his arms bent at odd angles to adjust a strap positioned upon the back of his rugged leather vest.  Upon seeing the struggle, years of aiding, or wrangling, Lady Jane with her clothing caused Darcy to move on instinct to assist.  “I’ve got it, almost,” he said in an attempt to halt her.

That was Jane’s frequent response also.  And just as she did with her lady, Darcy ignored the protesting and stepped behind Clint, taking the armour’s strap and buckle from his fingers.  “I do not know why you’re even bothering to argue.  It will only take a second sir,” she said, slipping the pieces together as she spoke and settling them on a well used notch.  “Here?”

“A little tighter,” Clint replied.  “It was getting loose on the journey here.”

With a slight yank, Darcy moved the prong along.  “And now, sir?”  She felt him take a testing breath, his back shifting into her touch. 

“That’s better.”  With quick motions, Darcy tightened the other two straps.  Without thinking, she ran her hands from his shoulder blades to waist, ensuring the vest sat smooth upon him.  And it truly did, for beneath the rough leather Darcy could trace the angles of his body with shocking ease.  Her fingers lingered, absorbing how Clint was all firm muscle and solid strength that barely gave way beneath the press of her touch.  It was so unlike the familiar pliancy of her own flesh and rounded limbs.  An image sat bright in her mind of how it would be to push closer to him and let their bodies mould the soft and hard of them together.

“Someone might see this, Darcy.”  His sounded as if it pained him to remind her. 

“I’m not sure I care anymore, sir,” was her honest reply as Darcy let her palms rest more firmly upon his chest.  Her hands lifted and fell as Clint drew another deep breath, this time as if to steady himself.

With her attention so caught up in each tiny movement, it took Darcy by surprise when a voice broke the stillness around them.  “Come on Clint, our turn...”  Natasha paused in her speech, an eyebrow raised as she turned the corner and the pair came into her view. 

For a heartbeat, Darcy hesitated.  It was as if her body was refusing the command from her head to step aside.  Her fingertips seemed loathe to break the contact binding her to Clint.  It was only the quick thought of what it might do to Clint, for his compatriot to catch him with a servant’s intimate touch upon him, which spurred Darcy into taking a step away, her hands carefully folding behind her back.

Silence remained as Sir Natasha and Sir Clint stared at each other, before Natasha’s eyebrow lowered to its normal position.

“Your equipment is waiting on stage.”  As simple as the statement sounded, Darcy was certain a world of unspoken meaning lay behind the knight’s tone.

“Thanks Nat.”  There was certain defiance as Clint placed a hand upon Darcy’s waist, the gentle pressure taking her with him out of the alcove.

There was no time for questions.  “Go sit with the others,” Clint murmured in her ear.  Without looking back, knowing he was likely still watching her every movement, Darcy skirted the edge of the crowd.  A spot tucked right next to the stage had been reserved for the servants, so as for them to be on hand for the knights, and Darcy slipped onto the bench next to Claire and Bennie.  Not that the latter should have been there, but Darcy suspected Claire had dealt with any protests.  Beth waved from the far end in greeting, smiles were exchanged and with a brief glance, Darcy was reassured to see Bennie’s hand looking much healed since that morning.  Or at least the blood had been well washed away.

After one last roguish wink to the crowd, Sir Tony ended his display by soaring towards the sky, surrounded by sparks that glittered bright as they fell back to earth.  “I don’t wish to boast,” said Claire, a slight twinkle to her eyes.  “But I think my knight’s demonstration will be hard to beat.”

Darcy’s smile widened from Claire’s usual banter, though the enjoyment became mingled with those butterflies roaming her stomach when Clint took his spot upon the stage with Natasha.  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that...”

It began much more simply than then entrance of the Iron Man.  Natasha silently picked up an apple from a bucket and tossed it upwards with apparent disregard.  With barely a glance, Clint’s arrow was drawn and caught the fruit mid-air, spearing it into a nearby wooden pillar.  “Not bad,” Natasha said with a hint of a shrug, loud enough for all to hear but with the casual air of one friend talking to another. 

Clint in return tossed a pear in Natasha’s direction for her to catch with not one knife, but two, shearing it into quarters that fell to the stage.  With a smirk, Clint picked up a segment and took a bite from it.  “Delicious,” was his comment before Natasha launched a rapid succession of apples into the air.  They travelled high, red dots against blue sky to Darcy’s eye.  Clint was still chewing as he drew the bow again and when the arrow again lodged into the pillar, all five apples neatly skewered in a row, a burst of applause rang out from the crowd.  Darcy barely managed to keep her own clapping controlled.

The pair continued on.  In contrast to their predecessor, they kept with quick comments and rapid responses, each feeding their energy into the other as easily as breathing.  There was no flash or bang but a simple, continual escalation of skill.  Even Darcy, who had borne witness to their capabilities, found her heart pounding as knives and arrows skimmed back and forth, hitting more and more impossible targets.  The crowd sat tense, watching and waiting for one slip.  One mistake.  One false move with those deadly weapons.  But of course there was none.  The two knights were barely winded when the final flurry of metal ceased.

Spitting out the knife she’d caught between her teeth, Natasha stepped forward to address the gathered people.  “Earlier, Sir Tony requested a volunteer to come fly with him.  I’m afraid Sir Clint and I cannot offer something so... exotic.”  A smile twisted her lips.  “So instead we offer the chance for one of you to win some coin in a simple game.  A...”

“Good, old-fashioned arm wrestle,” Clint said, interrupting Natasha’s words.  A slight frown on her forehead suggested this wasn’t part of the planned entertainment.  “We’ll even let you choose who you compete against.  Any takers?”

Darcy’s head turned to take in the gathering, seeing volunteers call out in nomination, some even standing in their enthusiasm.  Though when her gaze flicked back towards the stage, she caught Clint whispering something in Natasha’s ear.  The knight narrowed her eyes in response, giving the faintest of nods before surveying the crowd.  “You there, on the stables.  You look like a strong fellow.” 

Claire gave a muttered curse and Darcy strained to identify who Natasha was pointing towards.  The figure jumped from atop the stables and circled the wall to approach the stage.  Once upon the wooden boards, Jim the stable hand came into focus.  Darcy kept her own expression as smooth and still as she could manage, even as she remembered how hard she’d scrubbed her cheek to remove Jim’s presence there.

There was a cocky swagger to the man’s step as he turned and waved to his friends cheering from afar.  The rest of the crowd clapped politely.  “So, big man,” Clint began, bow still in hand.  “Which of us do you pick to wrestle?”  His forced calm might not have been apparent to everyone, but Darcy heard a tension beneath his words and saw his knuckles begin to whiten.  He knew.  As much as Darcy had avoided even looking in those men’s direction, Clint had worked it out.  “Think you can handle me or are small women more your style?”

Jim’s grin faltered a little, as if he had indeed been planning to wrestle Natasha.  Darcy could almost see the arrogance begin to swell up in response.  “I’m not scared of knights.  Real men use their hands.  They don’t hide behind little pieces of wood.”

Clint didn’t smile or respond in any way.  He just waited while Thor and Steve carried a tall, solid block of wood on the stage.  There were no seats as Clint and Jim leaned over the sawed-off surface, elbows bent and palms meeting. 

“And... go,” said Natasha.  A loud thud followed as Clint immediately slammed Jim’s hand into the wood, the sound ringing loud through the courtyard.  Darcy knew she should feel bad for smiling.  But she didn’t.

“Hey,” Jim objected, shaking his fingers as if to dislodge the pain.  “I... I wasn’t ready.”

“Really?”  Clint’s mocking tone drew some laughter from the crowd.  He rested his elbow on the wood once more.  “Two out of three, then.”

They lined up again.  Jim began to heave and strain; a grunt escaping as he tried to force Clint’s hand downwards.  Sweat popped up on his rough brow from the effort.  Clint remained impassive, almost eerily so.  He stayed that way as Jim’s features started twisting into something resembling pain.  It was Natasha’s glance that made Darcy look closer and she caught just how tight Clint’s grip had become, as if he was trying to squeeze bone together before Jim’s hand crashed into the wooden surface once more. 

Clint stood slowly, his expression still calm.  “Stay away from Darcy.”  The words were low and Darcy doubted any far beyond the stage heard it, as it barely reached her own ears.  With that, Clint turned to walk away.

Jim spluttered as he stood, grabbing with his good hand at Clint’s shoulder as if to wrench him back.  “That whor...”

The man did not get to finish his statement.  Faster than possible to believe, Clint had spun, catching Jim by the forearm.  A heavy boot knocked the rest of him to the ground and Jim fell hard, arm twisting at a bad angle.  The crowd gasped and Darcy’s breath caught in her throat.  The look on Clint’s face was so, so cold as it stared at the man bent beneath him.  Then he glanced towards Darcy and with just a twitch of muscle in his jaw, Clint released Jim’s arm.  “Think of that next time you consider raising your hand towards a woman.”  This time his voice did carry, though Clint did not wait for a response.  He simply picked up his quiver and bow in front of the stunned audience.

 Bennie’s head turned, his grin wide.  “Claire said you used your share of the ale for that knight?”  Darcy could only nod in reply.  “I’ve still got a few glasses worth left.  They’re all his now.”

Jim was almost trying to get up, when Natasha stepped forward, putting her foot down to halt him.  “Stay there.  It’ll be easier to fix your shoulder from here.”  Nonplussed, she reached for the wrist and began manoeuvring the man’s arm.  Darcy was already out of her seat as Clint approached the bench.  He didn’t pause so with quick steps she began to follow him, so her back was to the stage when she heard the popping crunch as Natasha wrenched the dislocated shoulder back into place.  But from the screech of pain and the shocked appearances around her, Darcy assumed it must have visibly hurt. 

No one moved to stop them as they departed the courtyard.  As they passed Steve, his look was dark and less than happy, but the captain did not halt his approach towards the stage, where Darcy assumed he was headed to either help Natasha or continue with the demonstration.  She did not give either option much thought, more focused on keeping stride with Clint who was heading towards the knights quarters at a fast pace and without even a glance towards her.

Upon entering his room, the bow and quiver were dropped to the floor as Clint finally came to a halt.  Darcy paused in the door frame, unsure if to enter or not.

“I’m sorry if this causes more problems for you,” Clint said, yanking at one of the buckles of his armour.  Almost in fear of the leather’s stitching giving way, Darcy ducked inside, tugging the door shut behind her before she once again wrangled the straps from his fingers.  Clint’s sigh was frustrated as he relinquished control.  “And the Realms know Steve will have my ass for it later.  But I’m not sorry for doing it.  I saw the way he was looking at you...”

“Thank you,” Darcy interrupted as the metal buckled slipped free.  He fell into silence as she concentrated on the next tight strap.  “I do not know if it was the right retribution for that man.  But it does not change the fact that was one of the... sweetest things anyone has done for me, sir.”  Even though her eyes were focused on the black leather beneath her hands, Darcy knew his gaze was narrowed onto her.

“You think that was sweet?”  There was humour now in his voice and when she nodded, Darcy felt the rumble in his chest as he chuckled.  “You know, most women prefer to be wooed by flowers and honeyed words.  Maybe the Asgardians have the right idea about throwing violence into the mix.”

With a roll of her eyes, Darcy released the final metal prong.  “I would not go that far sir...” she trailed off as his words became meaning.  “You were wooing me?”

For perhaps the first time Sir Clint seemed uncomfortable in his repose.  He looked away towards a speck of dirt upon the floor.  “That might depend on if it worked or not.”

There was jest in his tone and she did doubt that had been his underlying purpose.  Though as Darcy’s fingers lingered on his armour, a hint of tension still drew his body rigid.  For all the confidence he carried, the realisation dawned that on Darcy that her answer had the power to injure.  Her good opinion truly did was of importance to Clint.  The kind words and protection he offered were not merely the manners of a knight but truly intended for her.  She was not certain when their simple regard for each other had changed to affection, but in that moment it did not seem to matter.

“It worked sir.”  Her reply snapped Clint’s attention directly back onto her.  This time his focus remained on her face without hesitation.

“Are you sure?”  The intensity behind the question matched that behind his eyes as he studied her.  The three simple words were asking far more than they implied and Darcy could find no better answer than to close the gap between them. 

“I’m sure.”  And she was.  Every other concern had been swept away.  The comments and the scandal and the repercussions no longer existed as his arms encircled her.  Strong hands guided her closer until palms rested upon his chest and Darcy’s lips were captured by the steadfast press of Clint’s kiss.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Darcy’s first kiss had taken place during a warm spring afternoon. She had been in her thirteenth year and Ian, the baker’s boy, similar in age. For a handful of weeks prior, he’d shyly smiled at her through the kitchen door while handing over baskets of golden loaves to Cook. And then had come the fateful day when the boy's delivery took him past Darcy while she hung the freshly washed bedding to dry in the sun. Behind a wide, white-hued sheet, they had talked between hesitant pauses until Darcy had grown bold enough to lean over and touch her lips to his. That kiss had been fleeting and feather light; two mouths touching for one sweet moment. 

Clint did not kiss her that way. He held Darcy steady in a solid embrace while their eyes fell shut and lips brushed and soothed in turn. The press of another body against her own seemed such a simple thing, but with Clint, it sent flickering sparks skittering beneath her skin. Despite all their differences - thin fabric and pliant skin against rough leather and hard edges - together they joined in a perfect unison, bound in that one point where lips connected. 

So lost in the perfect influx of sensations, Darcy made a face of displeasure when air replaced Clint’s touch upon her mouth. She was at once bereft and greedy for him to return. Eyes opening beneath furrowed brows, she did soften when his hand came to cup her cheek. Those bow-roughened fingertips lay steady as Clint drew just back enough to study her. For all the heated evidence in his expression that spoke of an enjoyment to match her own, a layer of concern lingered also. “Are you...” 

“Sir.” Before he could even raise the question, Darcy interjected. She spoke with a boldness that would have surprised her before that moment. Before she knew how desperately naked her lips could be without his mouth upon hers. Her own slender fingers were already forming a lock behind his neck and tugging him back towards her. “Please be quiet and kiss me again.” 

“No more sirs,” he breathed out, hoarse and ragged. “Not from you. Not anymore Darce.” Then followed the instant tightening of Clint’s arms as they pulled her hard against him. Not a hair's breadth of space remained as their bodies converged together while lips sought the other with an ardent haste. Nothing had ever felt so right apart from these urgent kisses and the press of this knight into every part of her. 

There was no modicum of restraint this time when Clint brought hands to Darcy’s legs and lifted her clean off the floor. Any thoughts of decorum and sense became banished beneath the need beginning to uncoil within her and that Clint stoked brighter as his grip tightened on her thighs. In the short distance he carried her to the bed, that need became a wild heat which threaded through her veins and threatened to consume her from the inside out. And as Clint guided her to recline against the blankets, Darcy ran her nails deep into his hair and couldn’t help the noise of want that formed. The desire to succumb to his touch upon every last part of her was overwhelming. She had no other thought and urge but Clint. She ached for him. And she welcomed the weight of his body as it stretched over hers, sinking them back into the downy mattress.  

“You’re so beautiful.” Clint’s voice was a low murmur as he formed a hot trail of kisses along Darcy’s jaw. His praise was simple, yet worthy of a princess. “So sweet and strong-minded and...” The words became muffled as he reached her neck. That longing inside Darcy flared up as Clint caught the tender flesh beneath a heavy kiss made up of lips and teeth. His breath skittered over her, tongue following with haste to soothe where he had grazed, and Darcy’s existence narrowed to that single spot upon her skin. 

Was this what the poems spoke of? All those honeyed rhymes of passion and desire? Words seemed such hollow echoes of how bright the world had become. She was filled with a craving so new and foreign, yet so right she could not think to doubt it. Not when it left her feeling so vibrantly alive. So wanted and adored. As Clint guided lips and strong fingertips over her, she wondered how her flesh could ever stand to be bereft of his touch again. And when she gave way to impulse and twined one leg around his so as to draw them closer, to press him against her hip, the sound her knight made in turn proved thrilling beyond belief. She longed to hear that raw note rumble in his throat once more. 

A heavy, measured thud of fist against the door broke Darcy’s sweet reverie. The unexpected noise caused confusion in her daze of bliss, until she heard Clint curse and the significance came crashing down. Limbs that had felt weightless suddenly tensed and she would have scrambled to break free, straighten clothes and try to plan excuses, had Clint’s lips not left her throat to press a kiss to her forehead. The simple gesture calmed her. “We’ve done nothing wrong Darce. Don’t think for a second any different.” He spoke so sure, even if all the rules of court and castle would say otherwise. 

Whoever waited outside showed patience as Clint righted himself and offered Darcy a hand to life her from the bed. She tugged her rumpled skirt back into place and tried to smooth her hair with one hand. The rumpled blankets would tell all to even a passing observer, but time was too scarce to fix that dilemma. Clint appeared less concerned. He watched Darcy tidy herself before cupping her face with both hands. Nothing was said, yet the gesture spoke of comfort and protection. It took a nod of reassurance on her behalf before he released her to cross his quarters, steel his shoulders with a crick of his neck, and swing the door open. 

“Barton.” Sir Steve’s greeting was clipped. Yet it also held no wrath. The captain’s face seemed at worse resigned as he stepped inside, though the expression fell neutral as he took in Darcy standing demurely against one wall. Their eyes met and Darcy knew he saw through the facade of dutiful servant she was desperately trying to project. This was a man whose very name struck fear into legions of enemy soldiers. Yet today, he simply bowed his head in acknowledgement of her presence. If he was angry about what transpired at the demonstration, and the potential disrespect it might have shown their hosts, the good Captain was hiding it well. “Darcy. Would you mind excusing myself and Sir Barton over here? We have a few things to talk about.” Steve’s tone was pleasant yet still Clint grimaced.

Darcy's mouth fell open, ready to protest in earnest any fault ascribed to Clint’s actions. Her knight’s tongue was faster. “Take some time for yourself Darcy.” His dismissal was as firm as it was kind and as much as she longed to defend him, she would do him a dishonour to defy it. So her words fell still but already her mind whirled like a spinning wheel. While Darcy dropped into a curtsey and left the two knights to their discussion, she began contemplating ways to set this right. It did not matter if her reputation was sunk into the dirt for a so-called dalliance with a knight. Clint could not bear any burden for having defended her honour that day. 

Lady Jane! Of course Jane was whom she should seek for advice. As much as her lady preferred to track the movement of the stars across the sky, she was also well versed in many other matters, including the sometimes intricate rules of the court and decorum. A little flutter of nerves brushed through Darcy’s stomach with the thought of revealing the detail of her afternoon. They could share some secretes but there had never been the matter of romantic entanglements for either of them to discuss. Jane was a woman who trusted mind over heart, and might be critical of her rapidly growing affection for the knight. However even if her lady were displeased, Darcy felt sure Jane would put that aside to find a resolution to the situation with Clint. Not only due to the noblewoman’s affection for her servant but because Lady Jane could never resist a complex problem in need of solving. 

Lifting up her skirts, Darcy made quick haste towards the courtyard. Sir Steve’s arrival at Clint’s door had given indication that the Avenging Knights' demonstration had concluded and indeed there were only a few lingering nobles amid the servants cleaning up discarded food wrappings and abandoned wine flagons. The crowds must have dispersed to take their leave to recover from the excitement of the day. Or gossip about the wonder of the Iron Man and his suit.

Chewing on her lower lip in contemplation of where her lady would have retired to, Darcy decided to aim in the direction of Jane’s quarters. There was a favourable likelihood that the lady was freshening herself before the evening meal. Or at least, putting on her freest flowing smock in order to sneak a few moments atop the old tower to plot her next star chart.  

Darcy sought out the quickest route through the gardens and navigated past the dormant rose bushes and ivy-laced trellises when a voice ahead stilled her step. “My dear prince, your friends are simply spectacular.” A wall of thick bushes hid the form, but the sound of Lady Lorelei was unmistakable. Darcy resisted the urge to groan out loud. Duty said she should always be present should a noble need her assistance. And on a normal day she would do as required. But not today. She had not the time (or admittedly the patience) to currently deal with the woman. So duty became ignored and Darcy ducked behind a statue of Lord Selvig’s great-great-great grandfather. The ancestor had been a portly fellow and his marble form shielded Darcy well as Lorelei emerged onto the path with Thor by her side, the lady's honey words carrying in the air. “I see now why it only required you six to defeat the traitor Loki.” 

“Indeed.” Thor’s simple reply carried an unfamiliar note of regret. To Darcy's ear the subject of his brother was not a favoured one to the Prince, yet Lady Lorelei pressed on. 

"I must ask, your highness, what was the secret?" The woman asked as if she was a maid chasing a piece of mischievous court gossip. "A mastery of magic? An ancient weapon forged from Wakandan steel?" The relentless questioning sent Darcy's eyes rolling towards the sky. Were nobles not supposed to be the ones born with a sense of grace?

A measured pause preceded Prince Thor's reply. "For truth, it was no magic or mystery. It is the knights who stood by my side whom deserve every last word of praise." The humbleness was once more a surprise to Darcy. There was truly little resemblance to the glory seeking hound that had been encountered in the past.  

Darcy pondered if she should tell Jane of the conversation being overhearing. It was a great disobedience to eavesdrop on a noble's private discussion. Even with the lady's affection for Darcy, a punishment might be unavoidable. _Yet another indiscretion to add to her list for the day._ The rueful thought crossed her mind but was quickly dismissed. For would not the lady wish to know the extent of Prince Thor's change? Especially when considering his hand in marriage? Perhaps he truly could be a worthy suitor for the Lady Jane... 

Jane! Darcy could not allow her attention to wander while the pressing matter of her knight's reputation with his Captain was at stake. She needed the Lady's advice immediately. Peeking around the statue once more, and certain of the safe distance of the two nobles as they moved further from her location, she bolted forth in the direction of her Lady's chambers. The delay in the garden only added to her urgency and when she finally found solid footing on a stone-paved walkway, Darcy broke into a near-sprint. 

"Good heavens!" The exclamation from Cook came as Darcy turned a corner and barrelled straight into the woman. It was only Cook's steady, heavy footing that kept them both upright. “What monster from the sky is chasing you, lovie?" 

Darcy's chest heaved from the exertion of her efforts and her answer was ragged, even while she fought not to curse yet another diversion from her mission. "None, Cook. I... simply have an urgent message for the Lady Jane." 

"It shall have to be delivered by one of the pages then." Cook's fingers curled around Darcy's arm. The grip was not malicious. However years of labour with pans and knives and heavy blocks of unwieldy meat meant Cook's grip was unyielding. "There is a castle of mouths that need a proper feeding after all the hullaballoo today." Cook could be forgiving of some things, but not her meals being served late. 

"But..." Darcy's protest fell on deaf ears as she was marched towards the kitchen. Her head turned to stare desperately back in the direction of the knights quarters, as if her gaze could hope to reach that far.

She had failed. She felt wretched and frustrated but she clung desperately to hope. Perhaps Sir Steve would understand. Forgive in the most noble of ways and show much leniency in his treatment of his fellow knight. After all, what had Clint done compared to the stories about Sir Stark which oft featured grand mishaps and public spectacles? Often interwoven with tales of his adventures with women of various morals.

Darcy was not sure if that left her sensibilities soothed or feeling much, much worse when she wondered where she sat ranked in that list of women. 

_________________________________________________________________________ 

Any hope of escaping her duties to hunt down Lady Jane was quickly buried beneath a mound of parsnips and rutabagas. After the indulgent treats consumed while watching the knights, Cook had deemed the castle in need of a meal bursting with roots and some plump, tender game. "Will be good for their constitution," had been the utterance while Cook swept back and forth, inspecting each simmering pot and the work efforts of her assembled helpers. Darcy's part to aid this plan was whittling her pile of vegetables down into bite size chunks so the nobles would not be forced the indignity of slicing them with their own knife.

She could however appreciate that the task left her somewhat less singed than poor Claire who sat turning the spit beside the fire. It seemed that Claire had been using the excuse of needing to attend to Sir Stark to shirk any other duty, even when the knight did not truly need her, and one of the hotter, sweatier jobs was her punishment for sneaking off with her beau Bennie.

Not that it proved to be a dampener on the fellow servant’s spirts. "Want to hear a funny story?" Claire asked when Darcy brought her a mug of water. 

"A laugh would not go amiss." Darcy took a turn rotating the oiled meat to free Claire so as to take her drink. 

"I'm sure you know that everyone was talking about Jim being gelded by your knight." There was undisguised glee in Claire's somewhat crass recall of the scene at the demonstration. 

Darcy's tried to stomp on her friend's foot to halt any further teasing, though Claire neatly dodged the attack. "Sir Clint is not _mine_." At least… it was far too premature to think of him in those terms.

"You are the worst truth-twister Darcy. But that's not the point of my story." Claire took another mouthful of water before handing the mug to Darcy and reclaiming her space at the spit. "What I found out from Bennie, who heard it from the stableboy, who heard it from the milkmaid, was that Jim and his crowd of boys were all riled up because a certain person had been putting ideas in their heads." 

The path the rumours had travelled was ridiculous to say the least. Still Darcy found herself rolling the empty cup between her palms and asking curiously, "Which person and what ideas are you talking about?" 

Satisfied that she'd caught Darcy's interest, Claire leaned forward to ensure a whisper could carry between them. "A certain maid has been asking around from the moment they arrived if any of us has bedded a knight. Lady _Lorelei_ 's maid. And of course as soon as someone suggested it, everyone thought it was true." 

The details drew a rueful shake of Darcy's head. Chambermaids were the worst for spreading hearsay. Access to the nobles bedrooms seemed to incite a need to share any little odd detail they witnessed while changing the sheets. "Why would her maid be talking about that? Wait..." A small niggle of suspicious took hold. "Are you suggesting Lady Lorelei was involved somehow?" 

Claire's shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. "That woman? If she was part snake it wouldn't surprise me." Claire was never one to soften her opinions. "So I wouldn't put any form of trouble making beyond her. After all, she was really not happy when Sir Hawkeye basically emancipated you yesterday. Maybe she is trying to smear your reputation in revenge."

Darcy pondered this a moment or two longer. True, there was animosity between them, but she was a servant. She doubted Lady Lorelei even thought of her at all when they were not in each other’s presence. "The Lady is at worst simply fond of gossip." Lorelei's conversation with Prince Thor in the garden was proof enough of that. "Besides, it was not just me that was being asked about. She is probably testing if we are fulfilling our 'duties'."

Claire's eyes rolled upwards. "Even if I was not in love with Bennie, I wouldn't be stupid enough to lie with Sir Stark. He probably has lice. And who would even be suited for Sir Banner to bed? If it's true he can grow to thrice his size, imagine..." 

Darcy ran back to her station before her worldlier friend could finish her contemplations. 

_________________________________________________________________________ 

 

As much as she had chaffed against the delay, the time in kitchen with her friends had calmed Darcy's mind. But the issues remained unsolved. What had Captain Rogers said to his fellow knight after she had been dismissed from the room? Had Sir Clint's defence of her caused shame or dishonour? Would Sir Steve demand her distance from his brother in arms to prevent another such occurrence? 

When time came to serve the meal, Darcy found herself at the far end of the table to Clint. And as much as she wanted to aim straight for him, she had a row of the castle's most important guests to serve also. As she wove between the other servants, ladling out vegetables browned to a crispy perfection, she forced her face to show no sign of discomfort as she approached Sir Steve's seat.

"Parsnips, Captain?" It was the only question she could safely ask, even while other thoughts burned on her tongue for release.

The knight looked up at her and presented a friendly smile. "Yes, please." Not disgust or chastisement. Simply a politeness as he had offered in every other interaction so far.

Was this a good sign? Or was Sir Steve putting on a pretence of civility? Darcy instructed herself to remain silent. Told herself over and over again with ever increasing firmness. Then her hand froze on the ladle and her mouth started spilling out words faster than her mind could still them. "It was not his fault, good sir. I do not know if he told you that, but it is true. Most utterly, completely true."

They stared at each other for a heartbeat before Darcy regained control of her senses and began to quickly fill his plate. Embarrassment threatened to flush her cheeks. Not so much that she had spoken up, because that had been the least she could have done for her knight. No, she had no true regret for that. But more that she had rambled and likely made little sense. 

The man still watched her. Studied with a gaze that bore uncanny resemblance to Lady Jane's when she was near resolution to a question about why the moon waxed and waned the way it did. "Thank you, ma'am." Steve lifted his fork and inclined his head towards the far end of the table. "You should take some of these vegetables to Clint. He’s a little too fond of bread topped with cheese. This is better for him." 

Relief made Darcy weak at the knees. It was not a blessing. But it was neither discouragement. Perhaps Sir Steve was not so rigidly attached to the rules of behaviour as outward appearances of a perfect soldier would suggest. 

Darcy quickly curtsied, fighting to keep her appropriate smile from shifting into a blinding grin. "Of course, Sir." A weight was lifted from her. Not every obstacle had been overcome, but she would take this victory. She had to resist the skip that wanted to seep into her step as she walked down the table to Clint, ready to provide him with all the parsnips he could handle. And even after his plate was full, she was able to find plenty of reasons to keep returning to his seat.

Despite whatever had transpired between him and his leader, Sir Clint's reception of her was welcoming – very welcoming- and he provided his own share of gentle demands to ensure Darcy was constantly by his side, without her appearing more than an extra attentive servant. 

"Could I have some wine, please Darce." He held out the empty flagon barely a finger width from his chest, guiding her to lean in close to attend to his request. "And if you would be so kind, pour it very, very slowly." The fact that there was this layer of mischief to his nature made the man even more endearing.

And being so near to Clint once more was ten-fold the intoxication than any drink could ever be. Darcy put aside one wooden jug in exchange for another before she lingered near his side. "I can do better than wine for you, good sir." Moving so slow it was nearly a dribble, she poured out his preferred ale. Bennie had proven good to his word in handing over the last of the scarce brew in exchange for his amusement at the earlier demonstration. And when Clint took a sip, she was momentarily, ridiculously jealous of the cup being able to touch his lips in front of all the nobles in the land. 

"What does that face mean?" As if sensing her silly musings, Clint laid his drink to rest upon the table and turned blue eyes up towards Darcy. "No, wait." Their playful banter turned a modicum more serious. "Will you tell me later? When it is time to… retire for the evening?" 

It was an invitation to return to his room. And behind his offer Darcy saw only hope, not expectation that she would say yes. The moments of intimacy already shared between them had not degraded the knight's treatment of her. She felt respected. And she liked it. 

That didn't mean everything had to become sombre. She tilted her head in a pretence that she was merely considering the option. "I should warn you that I will most likely smell like roasted carrots by then. There are many pans still to scrub." 

Clint had a face that flowed easily between expressions. Now he laughed and took a large gulp of his ale with the sole purpose to allow him to request a refill. "I see. So what treats have the kitchen prepared for tonight then? Stewed apples again?" 

"Nay, good sir." Clint might wish her to drop the title, but they were still in ear reach of those who would not accept the breach of decorum. However concealed by the table, Darcy's leg somehow managed to defy good conduct and brush against his solid thigh. And by somehow, it was truly due to Sir Clint guiding his limb in her direction to make sure they connected. It was the briefest of contact yet still her breath caught. "This time the apples have been baked into a pie." 

"Uh huh." Clint stroked his chin, as if oblivious to the way the gesture sent his shirt straining tight around his shoulders. If it was his game to drive her to distraction, he was winning by a mile. "And what if I was to ask you bring a slice of pie to my quarters after the meal has concluded? It has been a long day, after all, and I am in need of some extra sustenance." A pair of eyes more suited to belonging on a puppy were aimed at her. "I might even need you to stay and help me eat it." 

For all that the world summarised Clint as an excellent archer, he was also clever of mind. Because that excuse was one that none could publicly object to. And even if the subterfuge was thin, whatever ill words people might speak of her tomorrow, all that mattered where the ones she could share with Clint that eve. 

Darcy's curtsey was playful and it was her turn to send their legs grazing against each other. "Then I shall have to bring you an extra large slice, good sir." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the clear lies at the end of my last chapter about not taking so long to write this one. One day though this WIP will be completed.

**Author's Note:**

> Big, big apologies for the long delay in the updates. Life and distractions and all that. I do promise that it will not be this many weeks between chapters again and thank you for both the patience and occasional prods to get writing again.


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